


Into The Twilight Zone

by Black_jay



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Armin is the real MVP, Blood and Injury, Collars, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Government Experimentation, Grief/Mourning, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Torture, Multi, Mutant Powers, Panic Attacks, Superpowers, The Eremin is minor, Wings, but not the sexy kind, see its not all bad, slooow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 124,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_jay/pseuds/Black_jay
Summary: Everyone knows that superpowers are the stuff of stories, nothing more than nonsense to give kids something to be excited about... right?Ever since manifesting otherworldly abilities when he was just a child, Jean Kirstein has been hidden deep in the bowels of SURVEY headquarters, a group designed to 'train' people like him for 'their own safety'- yeah, bullshit.He was perfectly content being the resident asshole of his team of superpowered freaks, but after he’s tasked with helping kidnap a newly manifested Deviant from his family home, Jean realizes that he may have to protect more than just himself. Marco, the prior mentioned Deviant, struggles to acclimate to his new life, especially when a certain doctor who may or may not have a screw loose takes a special interest in him.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 86
Kudos: 45





	1. Bird's Nest

**?**

**Jean Kirstein**

The howls of ringing alarms grate against my ears, ricocheting around my skull before coming to rest behind my eyes, adding to the growing pressure. If I were in the right state of mind I might clench my hands over my ears but I can’t _see_ , can’t _think_ , and my hearing is quickly failing on me too.

Blood drips down my arm from where I tore out my IV then crumpled the heart-monitor like it was nothing more than a soda can. Shouts ring out around me but I ignore them, pushing past people who gladly jump out of my way.

I slam open the door of the hospital room the only way I know how to and I register the crack of plaster before the ringing in my head becomes loud enough to block out everything else entirely.

I pick a direction at random and _run._ My bare feet skid against the slick tile and every time I try to open my eyes I’m assaulted with blinding light, forcing them back shut again.

Chest heaving, I stumble into a room that I can tell has people in it purely because I can feel their body heat from all the way from over here. Unfamiliar hands grab at my shoulders before they’re roughly pulled away and- 

I jolt as electricity courses through my body and squeezes the breath out of me, sending me crumpling to the floor. My teeth snap shut on my tongue and I can taste iron in my mouth as my teeth clench and my muscles tighten impossibly tight.

It ends as quickly as it began and I wheeze out a breath, hindered by the knee that has planted itself on my back and pins me to the ground. My hands scramble for purchase on the smooth floor but gain no traction. I can feel every puff of cold air the AC exhales and every grain of grime beneath my cheek. My eyes fly open, oversensitized.

My hearing gradually returns to me and I go willingly limp. The pressure on my spine relents the smallest bit. I can make out tiny snippets of conversation happening somewhere distant above me, but I just lay there, trembling, the adrenaline rushing through my veins burning away all too quickly.

“-edate him-”

“-gerous to be kept-”

“-sn’t matter-”

I blink slowly, tuning them out, able to make out the faintest of colors through my swimming vision.

I blurrily realize that someone is kneeling in front of me and I roll my eyes up to see them. I can make out the fuzzy forms of red hair and soft eyes before a warm hand comes to rest on my wrist. She mutters something that I can’t make out but sounds friendly. Someone crouches behind her protectively.

My eyes finally focus and I narrow in on her neck, a thick grey collar with a little green light wrapped snugly around it. I bring a hand to my own throat and panic flares in my chest when I find cool metal there too. 

Suddenly I feel suffocated. I can’t _breathe_. With a screech of metal my own collar contorts and _tears_ with a spray of sparks, wires, and shards of steel. I yank it off of my throat and throw it to the side, cutting my neck along the way on the jagged edges.

“ _Shit,”_ someone hisses above me and cuffs me on the side of my head, sending my world spinning once again.

Suddenly, arms grab me under my shoulders and drag me up and backward. I snarl, kicking my feet, making contact with flesh before someone grabs my ankles and keeps my legs still. I buck, trying to yank my arms out of their grasps, but they’re too strong and I'm too small, too-

“Jean!”

My vision whites out.

“Jean, wake up!”

I gasp, shooting upright, clutching at my sheets. I would’ve headbutt Armin if he hadn’t jumped out of the way. My eyes dart around rapidly before I remember where I am.

“Are you alright?” Armin asks worriedly, hovering over my bedside. I can barely see him in the dark room, the only light coming from the crack under the door.

I trace a hand over the shock collar around my throat, swallowing heavily. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I assure shakily, wiping my suddenly wet eyes with the back of my hand. “Bad dream, that's all.”

He eyes me, a hand half-raised like he wants to comfort me but doesn't know how.

“Just go back to bed, Armin,” I say, leaning back down on my elbows, feeling sweat drip down my neck and stick my shirt to my back.

Armin bites his lip but nods after a moment, padding quietly back to his bunk. There's a few seconds of blissful silence.

“You finally done with your fit, Jean?” Ymir drawls from the other side of the room.

“Oh fuck you.” I groan, flopping back down onto my cot.

“You couldn’t pay me enough,” she snorts. Eren snickers because of course he does.

I roll my eyes even though I know she can’t see me in the dark, scoffing.

I decide that some complete darkness will do me good right now to ease my senses so I grab my blindfold from under my pillow and tie it tightly around my eyes, sighing in relief. One problem dealt with. 

I pull my blanket back over me from where I kicked it in my sleep down to the foot of the bed, one of the very few comforts allowed to me now, and roll onto my side. I can hear the others shifting and settling down- I must’ve woken them all up. I’m grateful that no one else approaches me. I’ve had enough noise for now and I can feel a _massive_ headache coming on.

Despite how damn _exhausted_ I am, that night, beside my comrades, half of which I know lay awake as well, I stay up until Levi comes to kick us out of bed, for I’m afraid that if I go to sleep I’ll have that dream again, or even worse, I’ll dream of my old life.

I don’t know what I’d do if I got that torn away from me again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new JeanMarco fic in 2020? More likely than you might think. 
> 
> Feedback would be greatly appreciated, don't be shy to drop something in the comments! Thanks for taking the time to read this!
> 
> *Re-wrote chapter on 6/30/2020*


	2. You could call this the Funeral

**6:58 am, May 3rd, 2022**

**Marco Bodt**

I've only been late for school once in my entire High School career, and I’d like to think that I had a perfectly valid reason to be. My neighbor has two cats right? One is a total sweetheart. The other one though? Not so much. Unfortunately, that one decided to jump into my car as I left for school in the morning, without me noticing. I had driven all the way to school only for it to jump out the second I opened the door. I had to throw all my dignity out the window to chase this cat around the parking lot so I could bring it home. Now, I'm sure you're thinking: _But Marco, you saved that poor cat, surely the school would make an exception to the tarty rule?_ Well, you would be wrong, that ordeal earned me not only scratched up arms and a new complex, but a prime spot on the _Loss of Privileges list_ until I served my time in detention. Thanks Fluffy.

As I look into my mirror, however, I realize that being late for school might be the least of my problems right now. Waking up in a pool of your own blood when you're an eighteen-year-old male is not exactly normal.

Big, feathered wings have appeared to have sprouted from my back. I turn, craning my neck to see the mirror while grabbing at the wings like I was a toddler seeing a bird for the first time- except I'm both the toddler and the bird. They can’t _actually_ be there, right? It’s just one of those dreams that seem real for a few minutes after you wake up.

I'm sure It would look comical, me spinning in circles in front of my bedroom mirror, hair a mess of cowlicks, back smeared with blood, and clad only in my boxers if I weren't so _confused._ I try not to make a habit of cursing but-

“What the fuck?” 

I freeze, slowly turning to face one of the last people I want to see right now.

“Mina!” I scold. “what have I told you about cursing?!” 

Really Marco? That's what you focus on?

Mina is staring at me, slack-jawed, not that I blame her. Her hair is tied up in her preferred pigtails and she has her blue _Paw Patrol_ backpack slung over her shoulder. Is it time to leave already? How long had I been standing here?

“I-I can explain,” I stammer. I can’t explain.

I lunge to close the door as she continues to gawk at me. The last thing I need is for Mamá to see my… predicament. 

Mina looks from my blood-stained bedsheets to me, to back to my bed, to me again, like a cartoon character.

“Did you get _murdered?”_ She whisper-shouts, looking a little too excited about the idea. “Are you dead? Are you an _Angel?”_ She's leaning forward now.

“No! I- I mean I don’t think so.” I run a hand through my undercut, trying to play it cool, acting like I _don’t_ have giant wings attached to my back. I’m _at least_ 80% sure that I'm not dead.

She looks at me dubiously. 

“Listen,” I tell her, kneeling down to her level. “You can’t tell anyone about…” I gesticulate vaguely for whatever _this_ is.

Mina seems to get what I mean though and snaps her mouth shut, nodding wildly while mimicking zipping her mouth shut. _God, I love kids._

“Tell Mamá that I’m too sick to go to school today, that I have the flu or something.”

She blinks owlishly at me. 

“Please?” I offer, wincing at my sorry excuse of a smile. 

“You have to tell me all about this when I get home,” Mina demands, sticking out her pinky for a pinky promise. 

“Deal,” I reply, linking pinkies with her. Only a monster would break a pinky promise. 

“Remember, don’t tell anyone,” I say while shooing her away, slightly proud of myself that I managed to stay so composed. 

I close the door and try to lean back against it (Isn't that what they do in movies?), but fumble when my newfound appendages get in the way (Probably a good thing because then I can’t smear blood all over the door and turn it into a real horror scene). I’m in the process of turning back towards the mirror when my wing catches on something. I quickly turn, only to hit my wings against the wall with a dull _thud_ as I scramble to catch the lamp I had knocked over. I knock half the books off my bookshelf in the process which crashes to the floor. I stand frozen for a few moments, waiting to see if Mamá heard. Sure enough, footsteps approach.

“Marcooo? Are you ok? Mina told me you were sick, is that true? And what was that crash?” 

_Crap._

“I’ll be ok Mamá,” I force out, quietly setting the lamp upright. The doorknob jiggles and my eyes widen. “Just don’t come in right now! I don't wanna get you sick,” I blurt out, mildly panicking. 

She stands behind my door for a few more seconds. I can almost hear her frown.

“I’ll be ok Mami, really,” I placate, trying to sound as convincing as I can. “Just… give me a moment.” 

The doorknob moves as she takes her hand off it, almost succeeding in giving me a heart attack.

“Alright then… I need to take Mina to school… call me if you need anything,” she hesitates. “Love you.” Apparently too tense to form coherent words, I hum some sort of agreement when it becomes clear she was waiting for me to answer. Finally, I can hear the footsteps retreat down the hall and I breathe out a sigh of relief. Truly masterful, that wasn't suspicious _at all_ Marco.

Incredulously, I look at myself in the mirror again. The wings haven’t disappeared yet. It's becoming more and more apparent that this isn't just a weirdly realistic fever dream. Now that I'm thinking about it though, I do feel oddly light on my feet.

The wings are rooted under my shoulder blades and stretch down to my upper thigh. They actually aren't very big, now that I’m really looking at them. I definitely wouldn't be able to fly with them. I unfold and straighten them, the wingtips going about half a foot past my fingertips after I stretch my arms out for reference. Moving them feels as natural as moving any other limb, but they do make my back feel heavier. The smaller feathers near the base are stained with blood, along with the rest of my shoulders. I wipe off some of the blood that pooled in the small of my back, realizing just how much there is. I guess this explains the back pain last night, though I had honestly thought I had just thrown my back out at rugby practice or something (wouldn't be the first time). There definitely wasn't this much _blood._ Then again, there's no way I would have been able to guess that the pain was because I was about to _grow wings._ I scowl at my reflection, combing a hand through my hair and running my tongue along my teeth in concentration. 

I could probably hide them under a sweatshirt but what then? They might get bigger, they only started growing last night after all. I won’t be able to hide this forever, but I can't just tell Mom, right? She’d freak! Hell, I’m freaking! I still have to go to school, too. I thank whatever God likes me the most that seniors don’t have to take PE, I don’t know how I could hide the fact that I grew _wings_ if I had to change in the locker room. 

My bedsheets are definitely ruined. 

A single _fuck_ slips out from under my breath. This might officially be the worst Friday morning of my life.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

After a very complicated shower, I attempt to scrub my bedsheets clean for half an hour, to no avail. I eventually decide to just throw them away and hope Mamá doesn't notice the fact that a pair of bedsheets mysteriously went missing. I’m in the process of wrangling myself into a sweatshirt to throw the evidence of my peril into the garbage can outside when I hear her pull up in the driveway. I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast in my life. 

Now the discriminating evidence is shoved into the corner of my closet and I’m safely back in my room, wings still tucked safely beneath my sweatshirt in case Mamá decided to barge in. I open my battered Chromebook, ready to do some research.

Turns out, Google doesn't always have the answers. 

Googling “I grew wings??” comes up with 56 million hits, but none helpful. There was a song, of course, there's a song about everything nowadays. People’s novels and short stories come up too, all of them portraying growing wings as much more glamorous than it really is. I scroll past page 10 of the results, where the real freaky stuff is. 

Losing hope, I’m about to give up when one link catches my eye. It's a Reddit post from 2009 titled: _I grew bat wings?? Help??_

I click, there's only one response: _Cut them off._

What? 

The original poster never responded. A quick look into their account shows that this was the last post they ever made.

A little creeped out, I close the tab and conclude my search. I’m sitting hunched over on my bed, contemplating my existence with my cheap Chromebook on my lap, when my back cramps up.

“ _Ow,_ ” I groan out, grimacing. Suddenly the pain flares up from a cramp to a stabbing sensation and I jolt, doubling over in pain. It feels like someone took a hot knife to my back and started twisting. I can’t breathe, can’t focus on anything other than the excruciating pain in my back. The pain shoots up my neck like lightning and explodes behind my eyes, turning my world white.

Abruptly, it stops, only a dull throb and a tingling sensation lingering in my shoulders as evidence to my suffering. White dots dance in front of my eyes as I reel, regaining my balance, gasping for the breath I was so rudely deprived of. I smell a metallic scent in the air and my back feels wet and sticky. I slowly touch the back of my sweatshirt, my hand coming away red. 

I quickly stand, swaying a little bit, my poor Chromebook ending up on the floor. I try not to jostle my newly tender wings as I carefully remove my sweatshirt, quietly appreciating that the sweatshirt stopped another pair of bedsheets from getting ruined. 

My eyebrows shoot up as I realize that my wings are way bigger than before, the tips now stretching well past my mid-calf. I can barely stretch them out fully in the confines of my room. I give them a few experimental flaps, only succeeding in blowing my homework off my desk. 

I huff. I definitely need to take another shower. I slip the same blood covered sweatshirt back on, deciding to just wash it in the shower with me. Luckily, it’s black so no one will notice the bloodstains. After folding my wings into some truly origamic contortions, I realize that there's no way to keep the bottom few feet from sticking out the back. After a moment of consideration, I shove them down my sweatpants.

I’m taking _no_ chances. The bathroom is directly across from my room but there's always the possibility that Mamá will happen to be looking towards my door at that moment, which is, very inconveniently, in perfect view of the living room.

The moment I step out of my bedroom, I do indeed see Mamá perched on the living room coffee table, scrolling through her phone, her eyebrows scrunched in frustration. Or is it concern? Either way, she jumps up the second she sees and practically sprints to my side, almost tripping over one of Mina’s toys.

“Marco,” She starts, tucking a strand of curly black hair behind her ear. “I was worried about you, you never shut me out like that.” Her eyes are wide and she's biting her lip, the typical _Madre look_ you get when she doesn't know whether to baby you or get angry _._ I search behind her for a clock, it’s almost 2:00 already, almost time to pick Mina up from school.

“Oh, you look pale, are you drinking enough water? I haven't seen you once today,” She fusses, attempting to stroke my face, but I half-heartedly bat her away, trying not to be mean, I just _really_ don’t want her to see that I’m half bird now. She scrunches her nose up. “And you smell sick too.” 

Yeah. Blood, sweat, and feathers probably aren't a good combo. 

Mamá is clasping her hands in front of her worn flannel shirt, looking at me _way_ too closely. “You know you can talk to me anytime _burro,_ You can be much too stubborn _.”_

“Y-yeah, I know Mamá. I was uh- about to take a shower,” I stutter, slowly shuffling toward the bathroom, taking care not to turn my back to her. 

She seems to study me. Her unruly black hair is tied back in a low ponytail, some loose hairs falling around her face. She obviously hadn’t put much care into her appearance this morning, had I really worried her that much?

I finally make it into the bathroom, slowly closing the door while promising to come out afterward, no more “hiding in my room.”

Geez.

Mamá’s right, I really am pale. I’ve always had more freckles than Mamá and Mina but now, gazing at myself in the bathroom mirror, my freckles stand out harshly against my skin. My lips lost most of their color and I'm rocking some pretty gnarly eyebags. I guess growing wings out of nowhere really takes a toll on a guy.

Undressing and turning on the water, I decide to wash my sweatshirt first. I watch the blood run off the fabric, turning the bottom of the tub pink until the steady stream from the showerhead floods it down the drain. My wings twitch and I’m struck by how _weird_ it feels to wake up with two extra limbs. My sense of space is completely thrown off, I'm conscious of the area behind me like I never had been, I can even easily touch the ceiling (it feels almost the same as touching it with my hand except the sensation is dulled by the feathers). Surprisingly, the foreign weight on my back doesn't unbalance me as much as I would've thought.

At closer inspection I find that they are less white now, half of the underside is a medium grey, the other half white and the base is the same grey. The feathers near the wingtip are black like they had been dipped in paint. The backs are black with random white patches. Curiously, I stroke my fingers through my feathers. They are very soft, though some near the base are stuck together with blood. The muscles in the “arm” of the wing bunch and ripple beneath my hand and I can feel the power behind them. 

I might actually be able to fly with these. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Cleaning your feathers in a cramped shower is harder than you would think, especially when one sharp movement would send water spraying all over the walls, probably ruining the new paint job they got a few months ago. Somehow I managed, and now I have an excited Mina climbing all over me, practically tearing my wings out of their sockets to get a good look at them. 

“Hey, calm down,” I scold while prying the 4th grader off my side.

“Try to fly! Try to fly!” she begs, jumping up and down.

“I can’t exactly fly in my bedroom...” 

“Just try to lift yourself off the ground,” she demands. I eye her dubiously.

“...fine.” I never could say no to Mina.

I instruct her to stand in the corner while I center myself in the middle of the room, readying myself. I’m not quite sure how to do this. I take a few experimental flaps before making one strong push downward, jumping a little to help gain liftoff. Honestly, I didn't expect anything to happen, but judging by Mina’s excited squeal, it worked. I soon realize that first-hand, however, when I slam my head into the ceiling before falling ungracefully back down. I stumble for a second before turning to Mina.

She practically has stars in her eyes and, despite my throbbing skull, I grin back.

“ _Wait,”_ She gasps, darting out of the room. Confused, I stand there until she returns a few seconds later, holding a bathroom scale? She gestures for me to get on it. I comply, Not sure where this is going. The electric scale loads for a few moments until it tallies in at _114?_ That's almost a full 50 pounds lighter than I was yesterday. I rush to pat myself down but I feel the same as yesterday, definitely not 50 pounds lighter. I’m pretty sure that brakes like, _multiple_ laws of physics.

Mina lets out a noise of excitement. “I _knew it!”_ She pulls out a sheet of paper from her back pocket that I hadn't noticed before and shoving it in my face. “Today - at school - we learned about birds and it turns out their bones are hollow so they’re light enough to fly so I thought ‘maybe that applies to Marco’ and-”

“Hold up,” I interrupt. “You think my bones are hollow?”

“Yes! They _have_ to be.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. That's a question I _really_ don’t need answered right now. But, if that's true… I might be able to fly for real.

Mina comes up with the _brilliant_ idea to go to the forest a few streets over to practice flying and I, hopped up on adrenaline, agreed, despite my common sense telling me it's a bad idea.

I throw on my biggest, most oversized hoodie (which I’m pretty sure used to belong to my ex back in sophomore year… yeah, that didn’t end great, but a hoodie is a hoodie) and some track pants that I can stuff the wingtips down, I’m sure I’ll be walking like a moron but it will have to do. 

“Excuse me, where are you two going?”

I freeze, biting my tongue, spinning to face the voice. 

Mamá is leaning on the TV stand, arms crossed, and an unimpressed quirk to her eyebrows, obviously preparing to give us a talking-to.

“We’re going for a walk in the forest,” I sheepishly reply, making sure to keep my back turned away from her. Her eyebrows raise even higher if that’s possible. 

“I think it’s gonna help him feel better!” Mina jumps in, saving me. “He can’t get sick, he’s got a rugby game on Wednesday!”

Crap. School. Forgot about that. Suddenly, all the anxiety that has been mysteriously absent for the past few hours hits me all at once. How am I going to get through school? I can't hide my wings all day, they don't even fit in a sweatshirt. Will I have to buy a trench coat and be _that_ guy? What am I gonna tell my team? That I took being flyhalf a little too literally? Or-

“Marcooo, Come onnn,” Mina whines, attempting to push me out the door. “Mami said we could go.”

Successfully snapped back to reality, I move to thank her but she waves me off, a small, amused smile dancing across her lips. 

“Just be safe for me, ok?”

“Yeah, of course,” I assure her, though my smile probably looks a little forced.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

“Okay okay, you've got this,” I say, jumping in place a few times, hyping myself up. 

“You're really lame ya know,” Mina comments from the sidelines. I can imagine her sitting there, shoveling popcorn in her mouth, watching my inevitable failure.

“I know,” I mutter, taking off running. I jump off the ground, flapping my wings erratically. I _think_ I got a little air but I'm not sure as I stumble to the ground a second later. 

Okay, take two. This time, I let my wings do most of the work and try to control my flapping. I leap, batting my wings, managing to gain some air. I cry out, I’m a little wobbly, sure, but I'm flying! I vaguely hear Mina cheering but it doesn't quite register, I’m too busy staring at the ground, a good ten feet under me. I have to keep moving, I have a feeling that if I slowed I would fall. My wings strain a bit to hold me up, but it's the good kind of strain you get while exercising. It takes some effort to steer myself away from slamming into a tree, but it’s not monumental. I do, however, get the impression that my wings are built for speed and not strength. 

The weightless is both disconcerting and amazing, the wind brushing through my hair and keeping me afloat. I’m careful not to go over the tree line, I definitely don’t want someone to have to question why they're seeing a giant 6-foot bird flying around outside their window.

I angle my wings down and I dip back towards earth a little too harshly for my liking. I’m going to have to get used to that. Attempting to land, I flare my wings and angle my feet like I’m standing up. Apparently, I over-adjusted and instead of gracefully landing as I had imagined, I do half a summersault in midair, crashing head-over-heels onto the hard, packed ground.

I laugh as I recover, Mina’s laughing, and I can’t stop a big, stupid grin from spreading across my face. I stand up, my feathers ruffled and smeared with dirt, and notice my elbow is burning. I examine it, I must have scraped it during the fall.

Mina approaches, wincing in sympathy. I’m about to laugh it off and tell her it's fine when, before my eyes, the skin starts to, almost imperceptibly slowly, knit itself back together. I watch in awe as the scrape heals itself within a minute. Huh.

Mina watches in thinly veiled amazement, practically vibrating with excitement. She starts gushing something about a “healing factor” but I tune it out, too lost in my own thoughts. Am I some sort of Mutant? Because this can’t just be me, there have to be others with similar “powers” or whatever you want to call them. Maybe if I just tell Mamá-

“-Samuel is gonna _freak-”_ Wait what?

I spin on my heels, Mina is still bubbling, oblivious to my thoughts. 

“You _told someone?”_ It’s not so much a question as a statement. Mina stops, her lips making a silent “O”, eyes dawning in realization. She throws her hands out, probably trying to explain, but a sinking feeling settles in my gut. Normal people don’t just grow wings, I know that much, yet it happened to me. Therefore, there have to be others, maybe it's not wings but there _has_ to be others with weird “abilities”, I _can’t_ be the only one. The question is, _why have I never heard about them._ There’s absolutely no way I can hide my wings for the rest of my life, the secret might not even survive the weekend If Mina’s telling me what I think she's telling me. I’m only delaying the inevitable by not telling Mamá. There was also that weird Reddit most proving that I'm not alone, assuming it was true. I’d be surprised if I’m not on the news by the end of the week. Maybe I can find others like me. If, going against logic, I really am alone, I don’t know what I’m going to do.

I’m roughly yanked out of my thoughts when I realize Mina has started to cry. She must have mistaken my silence as anger. Great, now I feel like an A-class Jerk. Kneeling and placing both of my hands on her shoulders, I stare into her tearful eyes. 

“How much did you tell him?” I ask calmly. 

“T-That you grew wings overnight a-and I thought you might be a ghost.” I sigh. “I-I couldn't help it, I had to tell someone,” she whines, obviously trying to keep tears out of her eyes. “It's just so _cool_ and Samuels a huge nerd and I thought he’d think it’s cool too, I _know_ I broke our pinky promise-” 

“Do you understand why that's dangerous though?” I ask, chewing my lip. “I don't want to end up being some government lab experiment or something, who knows what people would want with me if they found out,” I explain, trying not to freak her out.

“I-I’m sorry,” She blubbers, but I shush her. 

“Just don’t tell him anything else okay?” She nods vigorously, wiping her eyes.

I lightly butt her in the head with my wingtip, making her giggle. I let her fiddle with my wings for a while before heading back home, feeling a bit guilty about making her cry. Besides, she just told one of her school friends, kids like nine, no one would believe him if he told anyone.

A raven watches me from the trees.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The sky is already starting to darken and the exterior house lights are turned on, preparing for the night by the time we get back.

Mamá made dinner while we were gone, Spanish rice and tamales, which she knows is one of my favorites, but I pick at the food on my plate, not very hungry but eating for the sake of keeping up appearances. My longer feathers are still shoved down my pants, bent at an awkward angle, the rest of my wings straining to press as tight against my back as possible, trying to minimize the amount of _bulge_ they make through my sweatshirt. 

Mina keeps kicking in thinly veiled excitement, every-other kick colliding with my calf due to lack of space under the small table. I stare at the table top, studying the scratches and faint water rings that have built up after years of my bad habit of always forgetting to use a coaster.

The fact that I’m desperately holding off a panic attack makes it easy to pretend that I’m sick, I can feel my eyes glistening and my hands wont stop trembling even if I wanted them too, which at this moment I do because it's hard to balance rice on a fork when it's experiencing a miniature earthquake. 

“Are you feeling bad again?” Mamá asks from her seat on the other side of the small wooden table. She must have seen the way my fork almost falls from my sweaty grasp due to all the jitters. 

“Yeah, whatever h-hit me this morning must have come back for vengeance,” I half-lie, keeping my eyes fixated on my plate, not liking having to lie to her. I can feel Mina’s eyes on me from the chair right, I'm honestly surprised she hasn't blurted out what is surely on her mind yet. Mamá’s gaze is fixed on me as well and I wilt under the stares, convinced that there must be a feather sticking out somewhere and she’s gonna find out about my two new limbs. I practically vibrate in my seat due to nervousness, I want this dinner to be done already.

Mina, bless her, reels Mamá into a conversation about how she beat one of the boys in a race today, but I quickly zone out of the conversation, mind going blank except for the faint nervous feeling that has been residing within me all day.

The lingering excitement of successfully flying must have left me and dropped itself somewhere on the sidewalk during the walk back home, leaving behind gnawing anxiety and the question of _what am I supposed to do?_ I set my elbows on the table with a _thump_ and hold my head in my hands, wincing and pinching the bridge of my nose, fork clattering to my plate much louder than I had intended. 

“... Are you okay, _Dulzura_?”

I jerk my head up, realizing that a hush has fallen over over the table and Mina and Mamá are now staring at me worriedly (well, Mamá is certainly worried, Mina just shoots me a look that says _suck it up)_

“Yeah, sorry,” I respond, rubbing a hand over my forehead, “I just have a headache. I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

Mamá bites her lip, eyebrows lifted in concern, setting the old pickle jar we use as a glass down on the table. “Alright... as long as you aren't trying to trick me into thinking you’re sick so you can go out with friends,” she says, not unkindly, side-eyeing me jokingly.

“You know I’m not,” I chuckle. She knows the last thing I would do is sneak out to party, I’m way too much of a nerd for that (as Mina loves to remind me).

Suddenly, she stands with the screech of her chair and leans over the table, pressing a kiss to my forehead with a _smack._ Mina scrunches up her nose in disgust but I laugh, grabbing her wrists as she releases me. 

“Mamá, I’m eighteen,” I whine goodnaturedly, releasing her. 

“There isn't an age-limit for receiving a _mother's amor._ ” She straightens, putting a hand on her hip, watching Mina scoop the rest of my food onto her plate without missing a beat. I roll my eyes and grab the plate to put it into the dishwasher, walking sideways like a crab, attempting (and failing) to inconspicuously keep my back turned away from her. Luckily, she’s too engrossed in scolding Mina to pay attention to the awkward way I slink down the hall and to my bedroom, but she does call after me to wish me goodnight. The last thing I hear her say before enclosing myself in the safety of my room is Mamá nagging Mina to get her homework done after dinner. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

A low feeling of dread settled in my stomach hours ago when I finally closed the door and refused to leave. What I’m dreading exactly, I’m not sure. I mindlessly stroke my wings, which are allowed out of their fabric prison because Mamá and Mina are asleep.

I’m laying in bed with my earbuds in, some sad Indie song droning lowly in my ears. I've found that on my stomach and shirtless is one of the only comfortable positions now, I can’t exactly wear shirts anymore and I would crush my wings if I laid on my back, which sucks because I’m a total back sleeper.

Checking the old, half-broken digital clock that only works when it feels like it, I find that it's almost 1:00 am. I grunt to myself and shift, using my folded arms as a pillow, my softs breaths tickling my skin.

I mindlessly stare out the window, the blinds are cracked open at such an angle that I can see through the cracks and into the side yard. It’s not much of a view really, some grungy red tiles and a small hill of ice plants and dying bushes that slopes upwards towards the end of my yard. A row of tall, well-kept bushes separates our yard from the neighbor’s. There's a little stretch of sky that isn't blocked by my neighbor's house, though. It’s bleached grey by the city lights but I often find myself staring at it for hours when I can’t sleep, sometimes catching glimpses of owls, airplanes, and the occasional rogue bat if I’m lucky.

My room is dark, save for the dim light filtering through the window which casts rays of white onto the floor. 

I lay like that for some time and I feel myself about to fall asleep when I’m startled by a sharp _snap,_ like plastic hitting plastic _._ I pause, looking toward the windowsill, where the sound came from, not seeing anything. I stay like that for a minute, eventually settling back down and brushing the noise off as a creak of wood expanding in the walls when I notice the window is unlocked. I could've sworn I locked it. A little suspicious, I narrow my eyes and sit up. 

My sleep-deprived mind _must_ be seeing things because I think I see the bushes at the top of the slope _part,_ even though there's nothing there. I squint, alarm bells starting to ring in my head. I think I see some of the ice plants bend and squish, almost like they're being _stepped_ on but, even through the cracks in my blinds, I can tell that there is _definitely_ nobody there. 

_Alright, now's the time to wake up to see that this really is just a very, very long and realistic fever dream._

As much as I want to pretend that I’m just going crazy and not actually experiencing this, I know in my gut that it's not true.

Any other day I would brush it off as a trick of the light but I had just grown wings and a healing factor so nothing seems impossible right now, and my gut is telling me there's something there. 

I inch off my bed, hoping whatever it is can't see me through the blinds like I can see it, and I grab my old metal baseball bat from 4th grade out of my closet. I press my back against the wall beside the window, trembling a little. My heart beats in my throat and I breathe heavily through my nose as I clench my eyes shut, trying to convince myself that it's nothing but a trick of my fried nerves. The dry, sliding sound of the window opening quickly disproves that theory.

I rear back, the blinds are silently being reeled up. I can definitely feel a presence climbing through the window and I _think_ I can hear it’s breathing, or maybe it's mine.

I close my eyes and swing the bat as hard I can.

The bat collides with an “ _oof”_ and I can feel the invisible presence stumble back, probably caught off guard. I bring the bat over my head again but before I can take another swing, the presence kicks me in the back of the knees, instantly dropping me. Landing on my wings painfully, I scramble for the bat which had rolled out of my hand, eyes desperately trying to pinpoint where the invisible _thing_ is. 

Suddenly, my attention is jerked to the window where a figure dressed in black kevlar is climbing over the windowsill. In that moment of distraction, I feel a swift foot kick me in the gut, hard, making me choke. I try to stumble to my feet but hands come to wrap around my head, pulling me back towards their owner’s chest. I briefly try to flare my wings out to dislodge the attacker but the hands hold steady. I have time to notice that the figure is quite small, but not much else.

“ _Sleep.”_ Is whispered into my ear in a soft, feminine voice. Darkness washes over me and I drop like a stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that while posting this a giant house centipede fell onto my arm and literally made me throw my laptop. I'm pretty sure my soul has left my body.
> 
> I hope you all are staying safe out there during these times! If you or a loved one is out protesting make sure to stay safe, I support you!
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon, and, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated.


	3. Blood Infections

**1:01 am, May 4th, 2022**

**Jean Kirstein**

It’s so fucking _cold_ out that I might as well have an icicle shoved up my ass. Historia is like a furnace beside me and has the gall to look _comfortable_. If I was any less of a man I might shuffle closer to absorb some of that free body heat.

Rationally, I know that it’s just my enhanced senses acting up, it’s only like 60 degrees, but damn if I want to complain. I probably would if my handlers couldn't hear every word I say. They would probably throw me in a tank of ice water or something equally cruel if I were to admit that I’m freezing.

We’re stationed outside of some poor bastard's house, about to barge in and ruin his life. Ymir’s been keeping tabs on him since the afternoon but wasn't allowed to tell us what his Deviation actually is. I don’t know all the details but I overheard some of the guards talking about his little sister not being able to keep her trap shut. Must be something kind of obvious then.

It would be ridiculous how fast they got us out here if it weren't so damn _scary._ The Corps has ears everywhere.

Speaking of ears, static sizzles in my earpiece, the mission commander instructing us to start the operation. I wince, his voice feels way too close to my brain. 

I don’t have my goggles or blindfold on me, it's not permitted for this mission. Luckily, it’s night so everything is dulled, even if I can see the concrete beneath me in uncomfortably high definition. The fact that everything is so muted only makes the streetlights look like tiny suns that are attempting to burn my eyes though, so I make sure to keep my back towards them.

I focus my attention on the window about fifteen feet in front of me, easily locating the locking mechanism and unlocking it with my Deviation. The resounding _click_ is uncomfortably loud, even from behind the glass. Hopefully our target’s Deviation does not include enhanced hearing.

I nod to Annie, a few feet to my right, who nods and shutters out of sight. That's never not going to be freaky. 

She slowly makes her way down the slope but even I can barely hear her footsteps. 

I think I can hear noise coming from inside the bedroom, some shuffling and something that sounds hollow and metallic but before I can warn Annie she's stepping through the window, just in time for a baseball bat to be swung at her. 

My eyebrows shoot up my forehead as I watch the man inside scuffle against his invisible opponent, quickly getting knocked onto his ass. This is the first time I've seen a Deviant have time to fight back, not that I've been on many retrieval missions.

Beside me, Historia grumbles and rushes down towards the open window. I’m content to stay where I am, the poor guy doesn't stand a chance. 

Historia quickly grabs him and puts him to sleep before she gives the retrieval team the all-clear. They vacate the admittedly very suspicious black vans parked on the street and three enter the window, two picking the unconscious target up and the other slapping a muzzle back on Historia. A spark of anger ignites in my stomach but I don’t have time to dwell on it because the man being hauled out of the window catches my attention.

A physical Deviant, now that's something you don’t see every day. It looks permanent, too. Huge black and white wings drag limply behind him, long enough to touch the floor. Two more members of the retrieval team rush to hold up his wings like they’re bridesmaids holding the bride’s bridal train; they obviously don’t want their _precious cargo_ to get damaged. 

I reluctantly stand, not looking forward to facing the bright streetlights. Annie appears in front of me, following the rest of the team without sparing me a glance. She took a baseball bat to the chest and doesn't even look winded. Show off.

I ignore the guards who are following me threateningly, hands on their tranq guns. Come on, I’m not gonna start something in the middle of a suburb with a dozen guards around me, itching for a chance to beat up some “Deviant trash”. I’m not looking to earn another “appointment” with Hangi thank you very much.

I squint as we reach the street, shading my eyes with my hand. Half of the retrieval team is loading the target into the back of one of the vans, the other half eyeing me, Historia and Annie suspiciously.

We climb into the van behind the target, sitting across from his unconscious form. Even though they don’t say it, we all know they put us all in the same van so they can drive us off a cliff or something if someone acts up.

None of us say anything, there's nothing to say, it's just another mission.

I sigh, wishing for my blindfold. It's so much easier to block things out when you can’t see.

With nothing else to do (Annie is definitely not going to make conversation and Historia is effectively gagged), I study the new addition to the team.

He must be a late bloomer when it comes to his Deviance because he looks about as old as me. He’s shirtless for one, and seems fairly fit already which will certainly help him once they throw him into conditioning. He's also _covered_ in freckles. Seriously, it’s like someone took a paintbrush dipped in ink and just flicked it at him like there was no tomorrow. And then there are those _wings_. Hangi is gonna have an aneurysm when she sees them.

I lean my head against the van's wall, feeling the vibrations in my skull. Poor bastard just got his life ripped away from him.

The drive back to base goes fast, I stare out of the front window from behind the wire cage separating us from the driver for hours. I don’t know where we are on the map or even what state we’re in, but staring into the night sky, the horizon turned orange by distant city lights, I almost manage to forget where I am and where I’m going.

I’ve never really liked the stars, they remind me of the infinite abyss out there and how utterly insignificant I am. The pinpricks of light are mostly hidden tonight, even though we’ve left the city. The light pollution still bleaches the blackness of the night a murky purple-grey and, instead of feeling open and vast like it usually does, the cloudless sky smothers us like a heavy blanket. 

Our new companion twitches in his sleep a few times and mutters something indecipherable once, but is otherwise still. I almost envy him, he’s oblivious to the world, sleeping like a baby. I can’t remember the last time I had a full night's sleep. 

My mind wanders, It was nice to be out tonight, _really_ nice. I rarely get to go outside, much less leave base, even if it’s for a mission. The only downside is, y’know, the whole kidnapping thing. Me, Annie, and Historia usually get stuck on the retrieval missions because our Deviations lend themselves nicely towards abducting random teenagers. 

Wow, I should put that on my job description. Jean Kirstein, handsome stud and professional kidnapper.

I've technically only been on two retrieval missions, not counting my own, when we picked up Sasha and Connie only a month apart. They are the only people I have that I might consider “friends” in this wretched place. Well, aside from Armin, but he likes everyone.

Finally bored of myself, I close my eyes, feeling the familiar bumps and turns of the road as we near headquarters, the source of all my suffering. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Hangi can be eccentric at best, downright psychopathic at worst.

The sound of her excited, _terrifying_ squeal would probably be enough to send me spiraling into a panic attack if I didn’t know from experience that Levi would give me something to _really_ panic about if I showed my discomfort. 

Hangi is currently fawning over our new winged friend much like she's looking at an especially adorable puppy.

He’s still unconscious because Historia hasn't woken him up yet, blessedly oblivious to the doctor that is currently poking him like a fun new toy to play with, which I suppose is pretty accurate to how she sees him. 

“What _fun”,_ Hangi coos, stroking his nose like he was a baby. “I can’t wait to take a look inside those wings of yours, I've been wanting a new physical deviant.” Her voice goes low at the last part and I can practically see the “science experiments” she's planning reflected in her eyes.

A strange surge of protectiveness erupts within me, the way she looks at him is _dangerous_ and rubs me the wrong way _,_ but I quickly squash it down, a bit surprised. I don’t feel much other than anger and fear nowadays. 

Still, this boy looks much too innocent to endure the Corps. I wonder how long he'll last before he breaks.

One of the Guards who’s wheeling the new Deviant’s gurney clears his throat uncomfortably but Hangi ignores him.

Historia, Annie and I are awkwardly standing at attention against the far wall, waiting to be dismissed. I let my mind wander, trying to think of anything other than Hangi and the massive headache from the harsh lights I’m nursing, until I hear the loud, _click, click, click_ of booted footsteps against the tiled hallway and the door swinging open with a screech of metal. 

I stiffen, and even Annie’s breath hitches as Commander Smith strides into the room. Hangi finally stops her rambling, but as a Doctor she doesn't have to stand at attention. An unsettling smile still warps her lips.

“I'm excited about this one,” says Hangi, bouncing on her toes.

Commander Smith hums, studying the new Deviant. Seemingly finding what he's looking for, he nods at the security team, letting them take the Deviant into another ward.

I think he's going to leave, but as he passes us he slows, turning to face us. 

“Special agents 009, 004, and 003, you are dismissed to your bunks.” He studies us for a moment, eyes lingering on Annie. “Next time don’t alert the target.” She sharply nods, clenching her teeth. 

Commander Smith’s eyes bore into us as we salute. I barely manage to keep my hand from shaking.

**Sometime May 4th, 2022**

**Marco Bodt**

I fuzzily fade into consciousness, opening my eyes to the sight of a girl with wide, glassy blue eyes who is strapping some sort of black mask onto the bottom half of her face.

A thick fog is clouding my mind and I grapple to get my bearings. My eyes struggle to focus and my limbs feel heavy like I’ve been awoken abruptly from a deep sleep. Who is this girl and why...

I jolt, trying to sit up, gritting my teeth against a sudden headrush, only to find that my arms and chest are restrained. I look down, leather straps are tying me to what looks to be a hospital bed. I’m still shirtless but I'm now dressed in some sort of navy blue scrub pants and hospital slippers. An IV is stuck into my arm and I can hear the constant _beep_ of a heart monitor somewhere beside me. I wince- I've never been fond of needles. I examine the bag attached to the IV; It’s clear and unlabeled, giving me no clue whatsoever to what is being pumped into me. 

My eyes wildly dart around the room, taking in the white walls and metal furniture and the two, very scary looking, armed men stationed beside each side of the door. It’s silent except for the faint hum of the bright overhead lights and the air smells strongly of antiseptic and bleach. I suck in a harsh breath, the sour air burning my lungs.

The girl is still beside me, looking at me curiously. I stare at her, not able to get my mouth to form coherent words. She’s pale, really pale. Like she's never seen the sun. Blueish-purple eye bags frame her otherwise pretty eyes in dark bruises but she seems alert nonetheless. She's very short, probably wouldn't even reach my shoulder if I were to stand next to her. Her blond hair is tied back in a low ponytail but otherwise looks clean. 

She cocks her head.

A man who I presume to be some sort of guard based on the fact that he’s lightly armored and has a holstered gun at his waist grabs her shoulders and maneuvers her out the door, even though she goes willingly. 

“W-Wait,” I call after them. “Where am I?”

They don’t stop to respond and the guards by the door ignore me.

I start to struggle, panic flaring in my chest, pulling my arm against the restraints to the point that it hurts. I try to open my wings only to find that they’re tied together, the straps digging under the feathers uncomfortably. I brace my feet against the bed to give myself more leverage but I can't get a grip, feet slipping on the sheets. Eventually I give up, flopping back down, head still buzzing from the headrush.

“Where am I?” I try again, glaring at the guard or sentinel or whatever he is. He continues to ignore me, not even glancing in my direction.

I dig my fingernails into my palms anxiously, biting my lip to the point of blood, It quickly heals anyway. I can feel myself panicking, my breathing is starting to speed up and my heart beats in my throat, making me choke on my breath. I can distantly hear the heart monitor’s _beeps_ turn frantic.

The room is cold, it reminds me of summertime when we’d blast the AC after payday and curl up under blankets for no reason other than Mina preferred being cold over being hot. God, why is it so cold?

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling scared tears start to well up in my eyes. I hate this.

I decide to just stare at my feet and ignore everything else, attempting to keep myself calm, much too overwhelmed to do any real thinking. I don’t know how long I stay like that, but at some point my attention is torn to the open doorway, where a tall, blond man now stands.

I shift, sitting up as much as I can under these restraints. I’m sure I look terrified but I can't help it, I have no control over my facial expressions right now.

“Hello Marco.” The man’s voice is smooth but unsettling. A too-warm smile stretches across his face but doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“Where am I?” I venture, hoping he'll answer.

“This is where you'll be staying now,” He answers unhelpfully. “My name is Erwin Smith, but you'll be expected to call me Commander Smith, alright?” I stare at him.

Unperturbed by my silence he continues. “I’ll cut to the point. See, you are what we call a ‘Deviant’, a person with fantastic powers. We don’t know why certain people develop Deviations, but we do know that we need to assemble them here at the Corps, for their own safety.”

“T-that’s not-”

“Shh.” He holds his hand up and I snap my teeth shut. It’s now that I notice that he's missing an arm, his hollow shirt sleeve hanging limp from his uniform jacket. He kneels at my bedside, face now a little lower than mine. He holds his hand out, palm up. I watch incredulously as a little, beetle sized dog appears in his palm. 

I open and close my mouth like a fish out of water, too many questions to count hanging off my lips.

“I’m a Deviant too,” Commander Smith explains, clenching his fist around the dog. When he opens his hand there's nothing there. “I can create illusions, effectively tricking the human mind. That was, of course, just a demonstration. I can make much bigger ones than that.” He smiles with just a little too much teeth.

I don’t say anything, I don’t know what _to_ say. This is probably one of the most one-sided conversations I’ve been in if you can even call it that.

“You’re just a different type of Deviant.” He pauses and seems to study me. “We’ll get gear for you soon, shirts you can actually wear and stuff like that. In the meantime, I’ll let you get acquainted with your team.” He nods at a nurse standing in the corner of the room. Wait- when did she get there?

I’m still in shock, not moving as the nurse quickly takes out my IV drip and detaches me from the heart monitor. They take off all the straps, including the ones tying my wings together, but I keep them pressed tight against my back anyway.

His hand clasps onto my shoulder none too gently and I let him steer me through the doorway and into the bare, white hall. There are no windows, the only thing illuminating the hallway is the long, white lights overhead. 

Uncomfortable, I move to rub a hand over my throat but instead encounter a heavy metal weight around my neck that I hadn't felt before. There isn't even enough room to slip a finger under it I notice, frowning.

Commander Smith notices and flashes me a smile. “That's just a shock collar.” He explains like it's the most normal thing in the world. “Don’t worry, it’s just a protective measure, don't want anyone acting out, right?”

I audibly swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. 

“Hey, if you just follow the rules it will never be used, alright?”

Is he trying to appease me? I quickly nod, suddenly even tenser than I was before. 

Luckily, I'm saved from the awkward silence when we turn the corner to find a boy (man?) leaning against the wall, fiddling with his sleeves, with a blindfold on.

“Oh-oh-nine,” Commander Smith greets. Oh-oh-nine or whatever his name is tenses and looks a bit like a deer caught in the headlights.

He’s tall and seems rather skinny, but I can see the definition in his arms. He has ashy-blond hair styled into an undercut but with a longer top, some of the longer strands tucked behind his ears. He has an angular face, all harsh edges, with thin lips and sharp eyebrows peeking out from under the blindfold. His skin is the same pale white the girl’s was, if with a little darker undertones. I can’t see his eyes but I imagine them having the same haunted look to them. He has a shock collar on too and I notice that the skin is chafed red around its edges. 

I _really_ don’t like this place.

Commander Smith grabs his shoulder like he did mine and Oh-oh-nine goes ramrod straight, so much so that I think he might hurt himself.

“Sir?” He collects himself and a blank look comes over his face.

“Why don't you show our new addition around, I have other business to attend to. I trust you to fill him in?” Commander Smith orders, it's clearly not a question.

The man nods and Commander Smith continues down the hall. Me and Oh-oh-nine watch him depart, well, I do at least, Oh-oh-nine has his head tilted in his direction. We stay silent for a few moments after he leaves. He turns to me and I think sizes me up somehow, without the use of his eyes. Is he blind?

He grunts and turns down the hall and I rush to fall in step with him.

“Whats-uh, what’s your name?” I ask

I can imagine him side-eyeing me. “Didn't you hear him? It's 009.”

“What, like the number?”

He sneers. “ _Yes,_ like the number.”

I eye him skeptically. “What's your _real_ name? That can't be what your parents named you.”

He pauses and swivels to face me. I've got a few good inches on him but I have no doubt that he could deck me if he wanted. He stands completely still and I can practically see a cigarette hanging out of his quirked mouth while he judges me.

“Jean Kirstein if you must know. But don’t call me that in front of Smith.”

“I’m Marco Bodt,” I beam and hold my hand out, realizing a little too late that a handshake may not be the best idea. He looks a little bemused but shakes my hand effortlessly anyway. 

“Come on,” he grunts and continues to saunter down the hall, but this time he waits for me. Progress people, progress.

I don’t know why but I really want Jean to like me. Maybe it's because he's the first face I've seen so far that doesn't make me want to run in the other direction, even if he's got that angry kind of vibe going on. 

“So you’re a Deviant too?” He hums in confirmation. I’m gathering that Jean isn't a very talkative person. Should I ask what his Deviance is? Or is that rude? Is there some whole Deviant culture that I’m not aware of? I don’t notice him angling his head towards me until he speaks.

“You’re taking this whole being kidnapped thing remarkably well. I sure as hell wasn't so chill about it.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Yeah? I’m glad it seems that way. I’m just trying not to panic until I know the consequences.”

Jean nods seriously. “Do yourself a favor and keep that mindset,” he says, and I sense that he's somewhere far away.

“So where exactly _are_ we?”

“The great and powerful Special Units Restricted to Valued Elemental and Yellow-class deviants,” He drawls, dramatically throwing his hands up. “Or just the SURVEY Corps for short.”

My eyes widen with a dawning revelation. “ _This_ is the SURVEY Corps? The extra branch of the military?” I regard him incredulously. No one in the public knows what SURVEY stands for, I didn't know it even stood for anything.

He looks surprised. “Ya know about it?”

“ _Yeah_. There was a huge scandal a few years ago, a lot of people died. Did you not know?”

His expression darkens. “I didn't know it got out to the public, no.”

I sense the change in his attitude so I let it drop. “What does Yellow-class mean?”

“Every Deviant here is Yellow-class,” he explains. “Green-class Deviants are rarely detected by the Corps because their Deviantations are not very powerful- they certainly wouldn't have a physical Deviance like you- and Red classes are extremely rare so there’s none here, _but_ there _are_ rumors that Smith and his Captain, Levi Ackerman, are Red-class.”

We walk for a few more minutes until he says- “You’ll probably be called 013 now, at least by the staff.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, you're the 13th of us so it makes sense, I was the ninth so I'm 009. You're the first one we’ve gotten in a while though.”

Before I can question him we arrive in front of a large white door, the only thing different about it is the grey plaque marking it the _Bunk Room._

“The others want to meet you- well, most of them do.” He smirks, pushing open the door and walking in, not waiting for me to follow. 

The room isn't very big, and bunk beds line the walls, two chests beneath each bunk bed- one for each person I presume. There are also two tattered and out of place couches in the middle of the room, but the actually interesting thing is the people _inside_ the room. I guess these are the other people Jean mentioned. And they're all looking at me.

Two scary looking girls lounge on one of the couches, one with a shiny silver body. She glares at me and I avert my attention to the two boys sitting on the floor next to them, playing cards. One has long blond hair and the other’s is shaggy and brown. I recognize the girl with the muzzle sitting on the top bunk of one of the beds to my right, looking rather lost. A girl with a brown ponytail and a boy with a shaved head approach me and Jean. I’m pulled from my thoughts when the girl flings herself at Jean.

“Did you bring back any fooood?” She whines while Jean tries to untangle himself from her.

“What, no, I just went for a walk, Sasha.”

“ _And_ picked up a stranger,” The girl- Sasha observes, eyeing me up and down. A little self-conscious I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly aware that I’m still shirtless.

“You’re number thirteen?” The boy with the shaved head asks. I hesitantly nod. “Cool wings man, The name’s Connie, or 012 if you’re Commander Smith,” he winks. A little startled, I’m about to respond when Jean interrupts.

“Is Ymir not back yet?”

“Nah, she must have acted up or something,” Connie says.

Jean sniffs but doesn't say anything else. 

“So ya gonna introduce us or not?” Connie asks, hands on his hips.

“Pssh fine. Everyone? Marco. Marco? Everyone,” Jean drones, gesturing between us.

I awkwardly wave and most of them turn back to what they were doing before we interrupted. The blond boy leaves his card game, though, and shakes my hand, introducing himself as Armin. He has an actually warm smile, not at all like Commander Smith’s.

Armin points to the kid he was playing cards with, calling him Eren. The muzzled girl is apparently named Historia, and the two scary ones on the couch are Mikasa and Annie- Annie with the metallic-looking body. I notice that everyone except for Eren has a shock collar on.

“Eren is an electricity-based Deviant, so the collars don't work on him,” Armin explains like he can read my thoughts. I eye him suspiciously. “I can’t read minds,” He snorts. “I’m just good at reading people.

Jean jabs me with his elbow. “The only free bunk is the one above mine, so that's yours.” He gestures to the closest bunk to my left. He then walks and falls face-first onto his cot.

“Sorry about Jean, he can be a loser sometimes,” Sasha teases. Jean grunts some sort of objection that's made incomprehensible by the pillow he's shoved his face in. Eren snorts from his seat on the floor.

“So,” Sasha starts, wiggling her eyebrows. “I heard you landed a hit on Annie.” My eyes flick in Annie’s direction but she doesn't look up. 

“ _No way_ , you did _not,_ ” Eren gapes.

“Oh he did, saw it with my own eyes,” Jean confirms. “You're just jealous that she beats your ass every time we train at hand to hand.”

“Shut it, horseface,” Eren warns. It's hard to tell but I _think_ he says it goodnaturedly. Jean just chuckles.

I blink, overwhelmed. Jean was _there?_ And he can see?

“Soo, you have wings,” Sasha starts. “Can you actually fly with them?”

“I guess, yeah,” I respond, running a hand through my hair, embarrassed. “I mean I didn't get very long to figure it out until… Y'know.”

“That’s fucking rad, man,” Connie admits. “I got super speed, look!” Connie disappears and suddenly he's behind me. I jump, spinning around while Sasha laughs at me.

“ _And I_ can hit any target with anything,” she butts in, shoving Connie to the side. 

“Ah,” I respond awkwardly. 

“Give the guy a break,” Jean pipes up. “He just got here.”

Feeling a little out of place but grateful for the excuse to slip away I climb up the metal ladder to my bunk. I don’t exactly have any belongings to sort out so I’m content to sit there, listening to the occasional conversations between Eren and Armin or Sasha’s weirdly specific rants about food. The cot is hard and the mattress and blanket are thin, but it's something. I shiver, bare skin susceptible to the cold so I hug my wings tighter to myself.

I sigh, pulling my legs in and resting my head on my knees. I don’t know what time it is or even what day, but somewhere out there Mamá and Mina are wondering where I am. Mina waking up and running into my room only to find that it’s empty. Mamá, probably scared out of her mind, going to the police to beg them to find her only son. I wonder what my team is gonna think when I stop showing up to school. They’ll probably think that I’m sick, but when I don’t answer their texts then they'll worry.

I wonder how long it will take for my school, my friends to forget me. Will I just be another passing thought, a fleeting moment in their lives, the occasional comment- _Oh yeah, I remember Marco. Wonder where he ran off to.”_ A sick feeling rises in my stomach. Will my family just think I up and ran away? Will they know that I didn't want to leave them? Or will the police mark me down as just another unruly teen who jumped town? Will Mina know that I forgive her for telling her friend about me? I hope she doesn't think that I left because of her. Or do they think I’m dead? Who knows what the Corps might have covered up my disappearance with. Will I have a funeral? Or-

The sound of a door slamming open startles me from my thoughts and I watch as a _furious_ tiger is wrangled into the room, a guard using a pole with a wire at the end that's looped around the tiger’s neck to force it inside as its yowling reverberates around the room. Once inside, the guard loosens the wire and quickly retreats into the hall, slamming the door. 

The tiger shoots one last angry snarl towards the door before turning to face the room. It scans us for a few seconds, eyes settling on me for a moment before it leaps next to Historia.

I watch in shock as the tiger’s bones seem to shift and the muscles ripple as it turns into a girl with darkish skin and freckles.

Historia immediately wraps herself around her, burying her face into her shoulder. The girl wraps her spindly arms around and leers at us from over her shoulder.

“Ymir,” Eren greets. “Nice to have ya back.”

“Looks like you gave them hell, good on you,” Jean adds.

Ymir smirks toothily, raising her hand to her forehead in a mock salute. “Just doing my job.”

Connie hops onto the edge of Jean's cot, grabbing onto the railing next to me. He's barely tall enough to peek over the bars.

“That's Ymir, she can shapeshift,” Connie explains. “There are two more of us too, not shapeshifters but other Deviants named Reiner and Bertholdt, but they just got sent out a mission yesterday so they probably won't be back for a while.”

“Huh,” I respond eloquently. I wonder what “mission” they could be on. Last time I checked the US wasn't at war with anyone, the Afghanistan War ended last year.

“Look man,” Connie hesitates. “I’m not gonna tell you that it’s gonna be okay because, frankly, it’s not going to be. But you have us alright? We all know how hard it is to get taken by the Corps, and honestly,” he leans closer, “ This place can be a living hell so just keep your head down. Don’t do what Ymir does, she can handle it, but I don’t think you could. Hell knows I can’t.”

I swallow and nod. Connie shoots me a tight smile before hauling himself over the railing, joining me on my cot. He gestures for Sasha to join us and she does, taking the ladder like a normal person. 

They talk about everything and nothing but the nonsense helps me take my mind off the situation, even though I know they’re only here in an attempt to make me feel better. Jean tells them to shut up a few times but Connie just dangles his hand over the railing and flips him off. I wonder if Jean can tell what he did, he still has his blindfold on after all. The rest of the day goes by fast but agonizingly slow at the same time. After Connie and Sasha run out of things to talk about, Armin invites us over for a game of Uno with Eren. I almost want to ask Jean if he wants to join us but he’s still laying on his cot with an arm thrown over his eyes. I decide not to disturb him. 

After a few games; Connie losing all of them, a short buzzer rings, causing Jean to groan and bury his face under his pillow.

“That's the dinner bell,” Armin explains as Connie zaps out the door, Sasha yelling after him about not taking all the food. “If you want I can bring dinner back for you if you're not up for the cafeteria yet,” He offers. “You wouldn't be alone, Jean usually stays here on his bad days and Historia isn't allowed to eat in the cafeteria so she will be here too.”

“Thanks, Armin, that would be great.” Going anywhere with all those guards staring at me sounds like a nightmare, and besides, I’m not very hungry right now. 

I lean back against the wall next to my bunk, watching the others leave. I’m already getting the idea of the subgroups here. Ymir reluctantly releases Historia from where she was hugging her against her chest, whispering in her ear before practically dashing out the door. I wonder if they're dating. Armin waits for Eren and Mikasa before leaving, Mikasa hovering behind them like she’s their bodyguard. Annie leaves alone, trailing behind the others with this whole thousand-yard-stare going on. I notice that Jean doesn't seem to have anyone especially close to him. Sure, Armin is friendly with him and he snarks with Eren and Ymir, but other than that I haven't really seen him talk to anyone.

“I can practically feel you staring.”

I jump and hear a small chuckle come from under the pillow that is currently acting as Jean's face. He rolls onto his stomach, pulling his blindfold up to look at me from behind the short headboard of his cot.

“I know. As Sasha says: I’m a loser. Making poor Armin get my food and shit,” Jean says, observing me.

“No, that's not what I was thinking at all,” I assure, bringing my hands up in a placating gesture. “I was just uh… wondering why you sit here alone instead of talking to the others.” I wince, very eloquent Marco.

Jean snorts, raising two fingers. “One: They think I'm a jerk- which I totally am. And two: I have a headache.” He eyes me for another second before slipping his blindfold back on and laying back down, apparently done with the conversation. 

Okay then. Armin returns about 15 minutes later with two trays of unappetizing looking gruel and some sort of smoothie. I force the smoothie down, it at least tastes faintly of artificial strawberry, but the oatmeal-rice looking concoction tastes about as appetizing as a soggy piece of cardboard. I’m only able to take a few bites.

About half an hour after dinner, a guard opens the door, summoning Jean. 

Jean winces but, looking resigned, he trudges through the open doorway, the guard following after. Concerned, I glance at Armin but he just shakes his head. 

I mosey around for the next hour or so, talking to the others, even managing to get a few words out of Mikasa. At last, Jean stumbles back into the room, without his blindfold on, looking significantly more tired than before. I’m about to ask if he's okay when he successfully starts an argument with Eren so I assume he must be alright if he's able to be as sarcastic as usual. 

Eventually, we get a ten minute warning before lights out. I'm about to climb back up to my bed when a guard walks in and unceremoniously drops a bundle of clothing on the floor beside Jean and mine's bunks. That was fast. I wonder when they got my measurements. 

Jean curiously grabs one and unfolds it, pulling his blindfold up to peek at the fabric before showing it to me. I wish I got a better look at his eyes. The front of the shirt looks like a normal T-shirt but the back has two long, vertical holes, presumably for my wings, with a zipper running down from them to the bottom of the shirt. That's one way to do it. There are three T-shirt looking ones, two black and one white, and one black long-sleeved thermal.

Jean tosses one of the short-sleeved ones to me and shoves the rest into the leftmost box under the bed, along with a few pairs of pants that came with it, telling me that that one's mine. I manage to get halfway into the shirt but struggle with the zippers, my wings making it hard to reach my back. After an embarrassing minute of struggling I smile sheepishly at Jean. He rolls his eyes and I can feel my face flush as he helps zip the backs up. 

Once it’s on, it feels almost like a regular t-shirt, except for the unfamiliar coldness of the zippers against my back. I shift my wings experimentally, the shirt doesn't get in the way. I grin at Jean who just scoffs and turns back to his bunk but I can see the smile that's fighting its way onto his face.

I don’t sleep at all the first few hours of the night, too busy sorting through my thoughts that basically end up being: SURVEY: bad. Jean, Sasha, Connie, and Armin: good. I don’t know much about the other Deviants yet, but Eren seems cool and I’m really hoping that Annie doesn't hate me. The few times she’s glanced at me she looks like she's envisioning the many ways to kill me, but Jean said that she always looks like that.

Laying on my stomach, I stare off into space, the anxiety that still hasn't left me gradually growing stronger. This time yesterday I was still in my room, in my house, with my family. Now, going over my thoughts, the sick feeling kicks into high gear like it's been waiting for this moment all day. I shift, the blood rushes between my ears and my breathing gets faster, the breaths grating harshly through my suddenly parched throat- _thump thump thump-_ my heart beats behind my temples. My wings twitch and I see my palms tremble in the dim light leaking from under the door, from where they clutch at the sheets. I’m suddenly very sweaty, despite the shivering, and I curl into myself, pressing my hand against my chest as if it will somehow make it better.

I take a few shuddering breaths to calm myself, shoving my head into my pillow to muffle my panting, the last thing I want to do is wake the others with my panic attack on my first night here. There's a sharp pain in my chest and I gasp through it, each breath feeling like I'm stabbing a knife deeper into my lungs. Is this how I die? Sure feels like it. After a few seconds, maybe minutes, I don't know, I go limp on my cot, taking shaky breaths through my nose, exhausted. 

I lay there for a minute, maybe ten, before shakily making my way down the ladder and onto the floor, as quietly as I can. I briefly notice that Jean isn't in his bed, but I’m too tired to think about the connotations. I trudge to the men’s bathroom, passing the other bunks, peeking at their inhabitants to make sure I'm not waking them. I accidentally make eye contact with Annie and I freeze. She's curled up, hair down and wrapped up in her blanket, eyes piercing even in the dark. We stare at each other for a moment. She just rolls over, putting her back towards me. Breathing a sigh of relief I quickly stumble into the bathroom, leaning my elbows against the cold countertop. I splash the cold tap water onto my face, dragging my hands over my eyes. 

I gaze into the smudged mirror in front of me, eyes fuzzy with exhaustion and unshed tears. The bathroom is dimly lit, the lights on the lowest setting, and the room is tinged a sickly green by the tiles of the shower wall. I look horrible, skin sallow and slick with sweat, eyes dull and unfocused, feathers ruffled-

I spin around, leaving the faucet on. Jean is sitting with his elbows on his knees in the far corner of the shower stalls. 

“Hey,” I greet, too tired to be embarrassed. 

“Hey,” he says weakly, halfheartedly lifting a hand in greeting. “Fancy seeing you here.” He doesn't have his blindfold on, but from this far away I can't make out much.

I stand there, hands limp against my sides and wings dragging on the floor. I distantly hear the tap turn off behind me. I turn, confused. It's not an automatic tap, you have to push the handle to turn it off. I look at Jean.

“You’re welcome.”

I huff a laugh, and I’m glad to see Jean’s lips quirk into a smile. I approach him, careful to keep my footsteps light, much like you would approach a scared dog. After a moment of consideration, I sit cross-legged beside him, keeping a respectful five feet or so between us. I wonder if he's here for the same reason as me.

Neither of us talk for a few minutes, but the silence is comfortable. 

“Why aren't you wearing your blindfold?” I question, genuinely curious. 

“It's dark enough in here, and sometimes it's nice to see things,” he replies, looking at the tiles between his feet.

I hum thoughtfully. That didn’t really answer anything. 

Jean sits up, leaning his head against the wall and looking towards me. He must feel the awkward atmosphere because he asks: “What's your sister like? Y’know, the one who told on you.”

I can practically feel my face light up at the mention of Mina. God, where do I even begin? “She’s super sweet,” I start, glancing at Jean. He holds my gaze. “She’s in 4th grade now, but always acts much older than she is, she-” I stop, unable to hold in a laugh, “-she went through a phase where she was _obsessed_ with the idea of taxes, she made my Mom let her watch as she filled them out, she even did a presentation about it in school. Sometimes I think that she's an old lady trapped in a kid’s body.”

Jean snorts. “A little Socialist.”

“Or Communist,” I add, feeling proud when Jean laughs, a nice, if tired sound.

“She always says that she's gonna be a rugby player like me when she grows up-”

“Wait, _what,”_ Jean interrupts. “You play _Rugby?”_

“Yeah? Wait- why is that so weird?” We're both laughing now but I’m not quite sure why.

Jean shrugs, still grinning. “I dunno, you just seem so… nice. I’m having trouble picturing you playing such a rough and tumble sport. I thought you'd play like, Tennis or something.”

I choke on a laugh. “Hey, you gotta get your anger out somewhere right??”

“I guess so,” he says, chuckling. I lay back against the tile wall, feeling marginally better than when I walked in.

“What about you? Do you have siblings?” I ask, bringing my head down to look at him. His smile fades quickly and I sense that I struck a nerve. I’m about to backtrack and apologize but he shakes his head, stopping me.

“I have two younger siblings, a sister and a brother.” The smile slowly reappears, but a distant look crosses his face. “Damn, they'd be sixteen and thirteen years old now, I haven't seen them since I was, like, eleven.”

“You've been here that long?” I lean forward but Jean doesn't move.

“Pfft that's nothing,” he scoffs. “I've been here the third shortest amount of time, fourth now that you're here. Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt have been here since they were like six, super early bloomers or something.”

I let out a drawn-out breath, that's a _long_ time. We sit there in silence for a few minutes. I absentmindedly stroke the soft feathers of my wings, occasionally stealing glances at Jean who is staring at the floor fiddling with his shirt sleeve. 

“My Deviantation includes telekinesis and enhanced senses,” Jean starts and I look at him, surprised. “My eyesight can be a little _too_ enhanced though, and bright lights hurt my eyes more often than not.” He glances at me as if to see if I’m actually listing. I nod encouragingly. “Sometimes my senses become too much for me and I go into sensory overload, which is not fun mind you. Covering my eyes helps stop and prevent it,” He sighs, sinking into the floor. “I don’t always need to wear it, even when it's kind of bright, just as long as no ones shining a spotlight at me. It's more of a comfort than anything.”

Jean glances at me and suddenly seems to curl into himself. “S-sorry I know you didn't come here just to hear me complain, I just-”

“No no no no no, I don't mind at all,” I assure him. “It's always nice to talk to someone.”

He eyes me disbelievingly. “Really? We just kidnapped you and now you're trying to be my therapist?” 

I shake my head, smiling, but it fades. I feel my eyes unfocus as I stare off into space, my mind going empty except for the faint feeling of fatigue and nostalgia for yesterday.

Neither Jean or I say anything more, but it's not awkward and the silence is exactly what I need right now. I don’t know how long we sit in the dark bathroom, enjoying each other's company, but by the time my eyelids start to droop Jean stands and nudges me with his foot, telling me that I'll regret falling asleep in the showers tomorrow. I figure he's right so we both tiptoe back to our respective cots. 

I might have actually made a friend.

The next morning a short, black-haired man shouts at us to: “get our asses up”, through a megaphone, successfully jolting me from my sorry excuse of a good night’s sleep. Jean’s still in bed by the time I climb down, smashing a pillow over his face.

“Not a morning person?” I ask, mildly amused.

He peeks his eyes out from under the pillow, glaring at me. I laugh, shaking my head. Jean reluctantly rolls himself out of bed, almost tripping over his blanket.

Suddenly, I wince as I feel a sharp pinch in my neck, under the shock collar. Jean scrunches his nose up at the same time. 

“That’s them taking a blood sample, making sure we’re healthy and shit.” He explains rubbing over the shock collar while popping his back.

Great, I get to look forward to getting a needle, albeit a small one, shoved into my neck every morning. Fun.

“Grab some exercise clothes,” Jean instructs, rummaging in his chest. “We’re gonna hit the showers and then go to training.”

“Alright…” I manage to find some gym shorts in my box. Jean pulls out some sort of blackout goggles from the box and puts them on.

“Oh, and don’t piss off Levi.” Jean grins, throwing me a towel. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

After a short rinse off in the community shower where I spent half my night (Where I pointedly looked anywhere except for Jean, who took the showerhead next to me), we rejoin the girls and end up in a giant white room with towering walls and windows on the far side. There’s what I assume to be an obstacle course on the left, an impressive array of weight machines, a track, and a large pool on the far right. This is everything my school gym tried to be. 

We’re lined up in front of the entrance, the man, Captain Levi as Jean tells me, positioned in front of us. A woman with glasses and a lab coat stands off to the side, hopping from foot to foot, looking ecstatic about something. The other Deviants eye her warily and Jean shifts a little closer to me, almost like he's shielding me from her. I bite my lip, nervous. 

“You know the drill, ten minutes starting now,” Captain Levi rasps in the voice of a heavy smoker. “013 stays here.” Jean hesitates before whispering: “ _good luck_ ”. He makes for the track with the others, Armin soon joining him and initiating a whispered conversation, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

I divert my attention to Levi and the woman who are quickly approaching, the woman with a skip in her step, Levi looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

“Hello! I’m Dr. Hangi,” the woman says, immediately grabbing at my wings. I wonder if she's introducing herself to me or to them. She starts pushing and prodding them, painfully yanking out a feather, making me yelp. Levi grabs her arm.

“Save it for later, four-eyes.” She just grins and tucks the feather into her breast pocket. 

“I’m so excited to have you here,” Hangi squeals, grabbing both of my hands in hers and shaking with vigor. “We’re gonna find out so much about you-”

-Later,” Captain Levi finishes. Hangi finally stops shaking my hand, backing away; not without an adoring smile in my direction. I think I see a flash of pity in Levi’s eyes but it might have been my imagination.

Levi steps back. “Now, fly.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Like- right now?”

“No, next week,” he deadpans.

I blink.

“Yes right now,” He snaps. Hangi giggles and claps her hands. 

Flustered, I spread my wings out, much to Hangi’s excitement. I examine the ceiling, It’s definitely tall enough that it won't get in my way but the lack of a draft might be a hindrance. Levi glares at me though, so I decide to just suck it up.

I push off the ground with a strong flap of my wings, managing to gain a surprising amount of air. I can distantly hear Hangi’s thrilled shriek below me but I focus on keeping myself flying in a straight line. After a few more flaps I'm gliding at a comfortable altitude so I turn back towards Levi and Hangi. Levi regards me for a moment before gesturing for me to come back down. Thankfully, I stick the landing relatively well, I don’t fall on my face or crash into Levi, which would certainly mean my death, but I do, however, skid my knee on the concrete. I straighten and brush myself off, about to tell them that I’m fine when Hangi gasps.

I turn to her, not finding her at first until I realize that she’s crouched beside my scraped knee, studying it with wide eyes. The scrape is already healing, all I feel is a faint sting. 

“ _And_ accelerated healing,” she exclaims, throwing her hands up. Levi narrows his eyes and sighs in my direction. 

As the rest of the team is finishing up their laps Levi’s timer goes off in his pocket. He fishes it out and mutes it, sighing. 

“After training every day, you're going to have an appointment with Hangi so she can… study you.” Levi glances at Hangi. “You may miss some training sessions because of said appointments but as long as someone comes to me beforehand it won’t be a problem.”

I nod nervously. Why would I need to miss training?

“Alright, go join your team, we’ll be observing you from afar.”

As soon as I approach them where they’re sitting in a circle stretching, Sasha and Connie immediately crowd me. 

“Your flying is _so_ cool.”

“What did the Captain want?”

“Why was Hangi so excited?”

“That's not a good sign.”

“Uhh,” I muster, overwhelmed. 

“Cut it out guys,” Jean sighs, stretching out his long legs and standing up. 

“Fineee,” Connie drawls, a mischievous smile on his face. “We’ll give you some _alone time._ ” Jean growls and makes a grab at Connie but he’s halfway across the room in a blink, Sasha running gleefully after. 

What was that about? Jean starts grumbling to himself.

“What’s up with Hangi,” I ask, changing the subject. “She seems a little…”

“...Insane?” Jean finishes. “That's because she is, seriously, avoid her at all costs. How often did Levi say you're gonna see her?”

“Every day, starting today.”

Jean rounds on me, and I can imagine his eyes going wide beneath his goggles. “Every day? Jesus what did you do to make her so interested? When I first got here I had them once or twice a week, and it soon dwindled to once a month when she realized she won’t get anywhere by dissecting me!”

I scratch my head, deciding to ignore the part about dissection for now. “She seemed pretty excited about my accelerated healing.”

Jean gawks. “You've gotta be kidding me. No wonder she was so interested.”

“Um-what-”

“-I’m so sorry man, but she's definitely going to test that out.”

I reel. “Like cutting me up? Like literally?” I ask, voice going high. 

“Hopefully she's learned… when enough is enough.” Jean smiles tightly and pats me on the shoulder. “I might be making it sound worse than it is.”

Not quite believing him, I'm about to continue the conversation when a streak of orange lightning crashes to my left, effectively interrupting my thoughts. Jean and I stare at each other for a few seconds, eyes wide, before turning around to face Eren, who has his hand clasped over his mouth and looking rightfully scared.

“Oops, uh-Sorry,” He calls from the other side of the room, smiling sheepishly.

I half expect Jean to start yelling at him, but instead, he sends the workout mat to Eren’s left flying into his face, bowling him over. Jean laughs while Eren splutters indignantly. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I’m sitting on one of those uncomfortable doctor's office chair/bed things, the kind with the crinkly plastic covering it, while one of Hangi’s assistants, Dr. Ral, draws my blood.

Dr. Ral pushes a strand of strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear, chatting away. “It's so exciting to have another Deviant here whose Deviance is permanent and physical, we haven't had one since Annie.” Dr. Ral gushes, but in a normal way, not a Hangi way. I decide I like her more than Hangi.

“What is Annie’s Deviance anyway?” I wonder what possible use her silver body could have. 

“She can turn invisible,” Dr. Ral explains, pulling the needle out and wiping my skin with an alcohol pad. “We think her skin can change into the colors of her surroundings, like a chameleon, just much more accurately. We took lots of samples of her skin but haven't been able to replicate it.”

Hm. Skin samples. Fun.

“-but we're hoping we’ll be able to replicate your healing factor in non-Deviants.” my eyes snap to her when I realize she's still speaking. “Of course Hangi will want to… test your limits.” I swallow, that doesn't sound good. 

“But don’t worry,” Dr. Ral assures me, “Moblit will keep her under control.”

There's a twinge of doubt in my gut, not helped at all by Dr. Ral's tight smile. She doesn't look like she believes it either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I hope you all are staying safe!
> 
> The angst train starts next chapter so that's exciting. It is not relevant to the plot at all that Marco plays Rugby, I just want him to.
> 
> As always, comments, kudos, or any feedback is greatly appreciated!
> 
> In case your wondering, the chapter titles are lyrics from songs I've been listing too while writing.


	4. The Killing Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost everyone looks like how they do in the manga (or S4 trailer) but a year or two younger, except Armin, who still has his long hair, and Jean is also not as tall and more of a twink tbh. Mikasa’s got her short hair, Eren's hair is longer, and so on. 
> 
> Also, in case you're wondering, Marco’s wings are based off the wings of a Black Baza.
> 
> *Minor edit to last chapter, RBA came to SURVEY when they were six, not nine.*
> 
> *Blood/implied torture warning*

**2:49 pm, May 17th, 2022**

**Jean Kirstein**

See, I have this theory about Marco. He seems to be the type to stubbornly keep a smile on his face, no matter what happens, not the type to express his negative feelings and damn, I can relate, except he compensates for it by being nice to everyone while I’m just a jerk. 

I will admit that, despite myself, I’m a little worried about him. It’s only been two weeks since he got here but Hangi already has him in for testing almost 24/7, probably trying to recreate his healing factor. I don’t know what gives her the idea that it can be done; she’s never even been even close to success with other Deviants before, and even Levi seems to be getting annoyed about her making Marco miss so many training sessions.

Marco always seems a little shaky after his “appointments” with Hangi but he always brushes it off when Armin asks him about it so I decide not to pry. Besides, he's usually back to his optimistic self a few minutes later. 

Marco is taking this whole thing _really_ well, at least outwardly. I didn't talk to anyone the whole first month of being here and spent the rest of my time trying to escape. That was also when I had my… accident. On the flip side, Marco seems to be making friends with everyone, even _Levi_ seems to like him, and I didn’t know he could like anything.

Levi has banned me from using my goggles or blindfold today, something about “not being a pussy”, and I can already feel the sting in the back of my eyes and a developing headache behind my temples. I did notice, however, that even though he pretended he didn't, he totally turned the lights in the gym and training room down a few notches. He’s totally a softie at heart.

On non-special training days, we are allowed to do basically whatever we want as long as we're actually working out. Not always being the most tolerable person, I’m usually alone, although sometimes I can convince Sasha to give me lessons out on the shooting range.

Taking advantage of the fact that Reiner is out on a mission and not able to shame me by lifting five times more than me, I'm in the jungle of weight machines, lifting 35-pound dumbbells in each hand. I’ve got a pretty good view of the rest of the room (Which I’m pretty sure used to be an aircraft hangar), so I watch the others as I have nothing else to do. 

Mikasa is using her Deviance to hover in the air inside of a little tornado while Eren, with his hair up in a stupid man-bun, unsuccessfully tries to channel his lightning through it. I scoff, he's been trying that for months to no avail. 

Ymir is running the track as a cheetah, lapping Armin and Historia as they jog at a much more human pace. It must be hard for Historia to breathe through that muzzle, I think. The Corps is so scared of her, but I guess I would be too if I were in their position, not that I ever would be. 

I can't see Sasha, so I assume she's at the shooting range outside; that or she has snuck to the kitchen to flirt with Niccolo, the cook. Even though I’m not looking, I can tell that Connie is on one of the bike machines nearby, the joints are screeching in protest as he pushes it past what is humanly possible. He told me a few months ago that his goal is to break one of them someday, I'm honestly surprised he hasn't already.

All of our handlers are positioned at the edges of the room, following their charge from afar, except for Annie’s, a black-haired woman who is almost as short as Annie herself, who is holding a punching bag that Annie is currently beating the shit out of. I wonder when Marco is going to get his, he's been here a while, after all.

I can't find Marco, but after a moment of searching I can spot him flying about halfway up to the ceiling, Levi observing him. His flying really is something, I'll admit. I can see the power behind his huge wings and the airy sound of their flaps make it all the way over here, but that's probably just because of my enhanced hearing.

Officially bored and arms burning pleasantly, I set the weights back on the rack and contemplate the 1,000-pound weight on the floor next to it, made for Reiner. I sit back on the bed of the bench press behind me and study it. I rarely lift anything that heavy. 

I close my eyes, reaching out with my mind, and cradling the weight. I attempt to lift it but it resists, the weight settling into the back of my mind. I try again, it wobbles a bit. Enheartened, I pull harder and the weight lifts a few feet off the ground. Once it's up, it's a lot easier to stabilize, I just need to make sure I keep it in place and not let it veer off in the opposite direction. I open my eyes and watch it, it bobs a bit as my concentration waxes and wanes but otherwise stays in place. I can't help but feel proud. Pushing and throwing objects is one thing, but keeping it in a single place I've found to be much harder. 

I grin, keeping my focus on the one weight but reaching out toward the smaller weights, lifting a few from the top rack and bringing them to circle the heavy one. I sit there without moving, barely breathing, just focusing on keeping them levitating in place. Levi would be proud. After a few minutes, however, I start to strain to keep them up. A bead of sweat trickles down my neck and my hands start to shake from where they're clutching onto the cushion. After another few moments, I let them fall, breathing a sharp sigh of relief as the tension disappears. I grin to myself. Not bad.

“That was really cool.”

I startle, jerking around. Marco is standing there, a small smile on his face, apparently finished flying.

I flush and run a hand through my suddenly sweaty hair. “Oh-uh thanks.” I look around at the weights that are now scattered on the floor. “I should- uh probably clean these up.”

“I’ll help,” Marco says, reaching for one at his feet. I shrug and pick up some others, we’re done in less than a minute, except for the 1,000 pound one. 

“Ugh. I don't think I have enough energy to put it back,” I admit, wondering how mad Levi would be if I left it there. I probably won't be able to even budge it if I tried to move it with my own hands.

“That's alright, I got it.” 

My eyebrows shoot to my forehead as Marco grabs the 1,000-pound weight by the handle and begins to drag it back to its proper place. 

Alright then. Sure, he isn't lifting it Hercules style or anything but it's still pretty impressive. I can see the muscles in his arms flex as he drags it and his veins-

The sight of a thin pink scar across his inner arm interrupts my train of thought (thankfully) before I spiral down a rabbit hole. I’m pretty sure that scar wasn't there yesterday, not that I’m paying attention or anything.

“Hey, is your arm okay?” I hesitantly ask as he puts the weight back in its place, grunting with the effort. He straightens and glances at his forearm.

“Oh- yeah I’m okay, thanks.” He doesn't make eye contact, just looks off to the side and a strained half-smile makes its way to his face.

For some reason I don't believe him.

Suddenly, there's the dying whine of a tortured bike machine and an ear-splitting screech of metal ripping and being thrown halfway across the room as Connie lets out a whoop of excitement. I turn to look, the petals of the poor, massacred bike machine lay a few feet from the machine itself, the metal piping that is supposed to be securing it to the base still attached. I nervously glance at Levi, but he's thankfully too busy yelling at Eren to notice. Thankfully for Connie's sake, I personally couldn't care less.

The little rat bastard in question zips between me and a bewildered-looking Marco, exclaiming something along the lines of “did you see that” but I can't be sure due to his voice rising to an octave that probably only dogs can hear. 

“Yes Connie, you defeated the machine, congratulations, but what are you gonna do about Levi when he finds out?”

Connie pales, obviously not having considered that before he decided to make a mess of Levi’s equipment. Marco just stands there, eyes wide and flicking between us, probably confused about what's going on. Me too Marco, me too.

I see Marco freeze, eyes drifting behind me and I turn to find a glowering Levi approaching. Connie, like the skittish little chihuahua he is, dashes to the other side of the room, trying and failing, to look innocent. Levi makes a break for him.

I laugh at his plight, turning my attention back to Marco, who I find to be already looking at me.

“What,” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” Marco responds, looking a little embarrassed. We stare at each other for another awkward two seconds. I just roll my eyes and take that as the cue to dismiss myself. I start to head down the aisle of equipment, deliberating on what I should do next. Marco trails behind me a moment after, kind of like a lost puppy.

I turn to look at him over my shoulder, confused about why he's still here. “Do you need something?” I internally wince, I didn't mean to sound so rude. I meant it to be something along the lines of “ _why are you still talking to me when you can find much better company?”_ but came out more like; _“Why the hell are you following me?”_

He flushes and scratches the back of his head. “Levi told me to start using the weight machines and to ask you if I needed help.”

“And do you?”

“... yeah.”

I snort, turning to face him. “Did he specify what muscles you should be focusing on?”

“Back and shoulder mostly, he thinks I’ll be able to fly farther if I’m stronger.”

“Probably true,” I reasoned. “Well, pull-ups are a pretty standard back workout, we've got some bars over there,” I say, gesturing to the right where there’s a few pull up bars standing at different heights. “Chest and shoulder presses will help too.” I point to the machines next to the pull-up bars.

“Okay...” Marco drags the word out a little. I feel like he's a little lost. Jesus, I never thought that _I_ of all people, one of the least athletic people here, would need to help someone with the workout machines.

Half an hour and 3 demonstrations later, Marco’s got the basics of the important machines down and is currently doing pull-ups on the highest bar while I’m suffering through my 4th set of reps on the Leg Press. Levi had threatened to make me run for an entire training session if I don’t get my mile time under four and a half minutes by the end of the month, and that's definitely something I’m trying to avoid.

I keep glancing at Marco, I really can't help it. I mean, isn't this guy 18 like me? Like, as in he would still be a highschooler or just graduated? Because he's already got some serious muscles for just playing on his high school Rugby team or whatever. Seriously, this is some Highschool Musical shit, I’m fucking jealous. It doesn't help that his shirt pulls up his stomach for every rep he does, showing off his fucking abs. I really need to get my mind out of the gutter.

After my 10th set, I collapse against the backrest, breathing heavily and my legs burning pleasantly. I wince as I accidentally look directly at the overhead lights that have decided to sear my retinas. Squinting, I sit up at the exact moment that Levi shrilly blows his whistle. Perfect timing. 

Wishing for a drink of water, I make my way back towards the door, the others wrapping up their stuff as well. It's just then that I remember.

I barely refrain from groaning loudly, but I do stop and throw my head back in sorrow.

“What is it?” Marco asks from somewhere behind me, jogging to my side. 

“Nothing,” I grumble, starting to walk again. Marco matches my pace. “I just have Special Training with Levi today.”

He nods in sympathy, even though he hasn't had any sort of “special training” yet.

“Do you have an appointment with Hangi today?” I ask, regretting the question the second after I ask it. His expression darkens and he chews his lips, eyes glazing over for a second. 

“That bad?” I question softly, turning to look at him but he doesn't meet my eyes. He shrugs and flashes me a thin smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“It could be worse.”

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“Oof.” I hit the mat hard, my side throbbing painfully. I quickly roll away, narrowly avoiding Levi’s foot to my face. I get my feet under me just in time to evade a kick to the gut and I jump away, putting space between me and Levi. I keep my elbows in and fists by my face, watching Levi as he steps back and turns half his body towards me, feet never staying planted in one place. He isn't even breathing heavily, I notice with a frown.

In this split second of thought, Levi jumps and propels himself higher than is humanly possible, bringing his leg down to deliver a swift kick to my neck. I barely avoid it, skittering to the side. I wish for something to throw at him, but the room is completely empty for that exact reason.

“Get off of defense,” Levi commands, coming at me again. 

I try to fight back, I really do, but every time I try to hold my ground Levi knocks me on my ass again. As I’m about to jump away from another punch I feel an outside force keep my feet rooted to the ground. I bring my arms up and clench my eyes shut as Levi swings a fist towards me, anticipating a blow that doesn't come. I snap my eyes open again; Levi’s fist is hovering inches from my face as if someone hit the pause button in the middle of his punch. He’s free less than a second later, but so am I, so I use this time to kick him in the knee, dropping him. He's quickly on his feet again before I can even think about pinning him, but his usual scowl has lessened, if only by a little bit.

“See? You can’t win if you're on defense the entire time. Use your Deviance to your advantage.”

Levi jumps and rises into the air like he's climbing an invisible staircase before falling downwards, foot aimed at my face. I dodge the foot but not the rest of him, his knees coming to lock around my neck as he flips me onto the floor. I manage to maneuver myself out of his grip, digging an elbow into his gut.

Four steps back. My lungs are starting to burn. Suddenly, a force sweeps me off my feet, and, back on the mat, Levi lunges for me. I push out with my mind, sending a _wave_ outwards and towards Levi. It’s not much, he doesn't even fall, but it stops his attack as he regains his balance. My mind buzzing, I try to think clearly, shutting my instincts out and trying to focus on my brain. 

“Use your senses, they give you an advantage.”

I straighten, narrowing my eyes and trying to focus, but he's steadily getting closer to me, advancing faster than I can retreat. I hear every move he makes a second before I can see it, but that doesn't stop him from bloodying my lip. Soon, his foot is in between mine and he practically tackles me to the floor, wrangling one of my arms in his. He’s got my arm in such a position that I have to roll onto my stomach to avoid breaking it, Levi planting a knee on my back as soon as I’m down.

I’m panting and beads of sweat are dripping down my brow as Levi painfully digs his knee into my spine. Sometimes, I think Levi just spars with me just to take revenge for _back then._

“Do you yield?” He asks, twisting my arm even more. I growl and struggle to escape his grip but he slams me back down.

“Do you yield?” He repeats, sounding way too bored for the situation we're in. He grabs my shock collar and uses it to keep my face planted in the foul-smelling mat. Anger rises within me and I see red; how dare he treat me like I’m not even worth his time, I’m sick of them snapping collars on us like dogs, sick of them treating us like we're not even human-

Suddenly, the world goes white and I distantly hear Levi’s grunt as his back hits the mat. I scramble to my feet, realizing what just happened.

Levi recovers quickly and covers one of his nostrils with his thumb, blowing a wad of blood out of his suddenly bloody nose.

“Next time, start with that.”

I’m not sure if he's going to attack me again or not, so I watch him warily as he sits against the wall, wiping the blood off his mouth. He raises an eyebrow so I let my guard down, coming to sit a few feet from his left. I can smell the stale tobacco that sticks to his clothes.

“You need to keep control, losing control is how your little accident happened, and I don't think any of us want a repeat,” Levi says, blunt as ever. I nod and shame fills my body. “By all accounts, you should be as powerful as me someday, we've got almost the same Deviantations. If anything, you should have an advantage with those senses.”

“But my senses are more of a hindrance-”

“There's no reason they should be,” Levi interrupts in his usual monotone voice. “Stop being a brat and learn how to _focus._ Stop hiding behind that blindfold, it will do you about as much good in the long run as closing your eyes after leaving a dark movie theatre will do. Absolutely nothing, just delaying the inevitable.” 

I huff, mulling over his words until I stumble on something. “How am I supposed to be as powerful as you? Aren't you supposed to be a Red-Class?

He narrows his eyes and whips his head towards me. “Who told you that?” He asks, voice cold but calm.

“Just a rumor,” I shrug, shying away from his piercing gaze, regretting I mentioned it. 

He sighs and stands up, brushing himself off while staring down on me. “There’s a reason why I’m your handler you know. As I said, you have the potential to be as powerful as me someday.”

I’m not sure I believe him.

He pulls open the heavy metal door to his right, leaving without another word. I subconsciously rub a hand over my ribs where I can already feel a bruise forming, flinching at the sting. Stupid Levi and his kicks. _What was that about? Why’d he look at me like that?_

I reluctantly stand, not without grumbling to myself, heading through the door and trudging to my water bottle where I left it beside the door, taking long gulps of the freezing ice water. There is truly nothing better in life than ice-cold water. I finish with an “ahh”, suddenly very tired. My sides ache, my arm aches, my feet ache, my _head_ aches.

I mosey back to the bunk room, not particularly excited about interacting with people but craving the soft-ish cushions of my bed, the dimmer lights, and the familiar smells. When I finally push open the heavy door I find that Marco still isn't back, despite him being gone for- I check the wall clock- over three hours.

“Worried about freckled Jesus?”

The source of the voice, Connie, sits up from where he's lounging with Sasha on one of the couches. Sasha must see the confusion on my face

“You know, cuz’ he's so nice and literally has angel wings,” Sasha explains, waving her hands like I'm a particularly dull toddler, effortlessly finishing Connie's thought while sitting upside down with her head hanging off the edge of the couch and feet in the air. 

“... that's the stupidest nickname I've ever heard,” I respond. Sasha sticks her tongue out at me. “And no, I'm not worried about him, I’m just tired and wanted to see how long it's gonna be till I can sleep without you guys bugging me.”

“Suuure,” Sasha winks, dragging the word out.

“I think Jeany-boy here just doesn't want to admit that he cares about people,” Connie adds, batting his eyelashes innocently.

Eren barks out a laugh from across the room. “Jean? Caring about someone? That’s cute.”

 _What did I do to deserve this torment?_ “At least I don’t have the hots for the cook,” I retort, aiming at Sasha who splutters, face going red.

I successfully crash onto my bunk, Connie and Eren too distracted by laughing at Sasha to stop my escape. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

It's been hours and Marco still hasn't come back, but I’m not too worried, it wouldn't be the first time Hangi kept someone there all day, and besides, it's really none of my business. Hangi is probably just studying his feathers or something.

I’m reclining on one of the couches, taking advantage of the dimmer lights in the evening to get some reading in when the door bangs open with a _screech_ of its hinges and two of Hangi’s sentinels haul Marco’s limp form in, dropping him onto my empty cot as they can’t be bothered to get him up to his. Armin immediately rushes to his side and I follow a moment after, not sure if I'd be a help or a hindrance but too freaked out to really care. 

Marco looks unconscious and has bandages wrapped all the way around his chest and torso, part of his wings under them as well. Armin rolls him onto his back, gasping at the sight of red staining the gauze. He unwraps the bandages, cursing under his breath when he sees what's beneath.

There are two long, deep slices cut into his skin from the base of his wings to his waist, turning to the side at the ends and curving with his body. Thick black stitches criss-cross along the wounds, which even with his healing factor are still sluggishly leaking blood along some areas. I barely hold down a gag as the scent of blood and pain hits my nose. I distantly hear Armin yell at someone to get more bandages and Mikasa’s grunt of confirmation, but I’m laser-focused on the slow, deep red blood spilling from the incisions and the stretched, puckered skin around the stitches. I don’t think I’ve ever hated my enhanced sight more than right now as I can't take my eyes off his ravaged back.

“Did they _flay_ him?” Sasha practically whimpers from over my shoulder. I nod dumbly. Hangi must have peeled his skin back to get a better look at his wing’s muscles connects to his regular ones. 

“W-why hasn't he healed yet? He's got super healing right?” Connie asks, voice high and shaky. 

“I think he _is_ healing,” Armin says, placing both of his hands lightly over the slices in his skin. “He must be healing something internal; that or he's out of energy.” Armin closes his eyes, using his Deviance to heal the wounds slowly, which begin to look less red as the blood stops leaking. 

“Why’d they send him back here to us? Some sort of sick powerplay?” I ask, disgusted.

“I think they know I would be able to heal him better than them. Hangi must have gotten in trouble with Commander Smith.” Armin responds, speaking through a pair of tweezers he has clenched between his teeth. When did they get there?

Marco mutters something incomprehensible. I wonder if he's actually conscious. I hope not.

Historia comes around the head of the bed and places her hands on his temples, probably transmitting calming emotions or encouraging him to keep sleeping. Pretty much the whole room is standing behind us now, unable to ignore the commotion in such a small space.

Armin takes his hands off his wrecked back, long before it’s fully healed.

“Why- why'd you stop?” I stutter, concerned. Armin grabs his tweezers, quickly getting to work on the stitches. 

“I have to take the stitches out before he heals too much, you don't want the skin to grow over them.”

“O-oh.”

I have to look away as Armin pulls the knot on one of the stitches and cuts it, flicking it to the side with the bloody bandages. I’m not usually squeamish but this is testing my limits. My eyes flick to Marco’s face, half-obscured by the angle. There's a pained look to his face and dry tear tracks across his cheeks but he doesn't seem to be conscious, thankfully. He doesn't look right without his usual smile.

I feel bile rise to my throat and I have to run to the bathroom, Ymir patting me on the shoulder pityingly as I pass her. I stumble into the first stall and retch into the toilet, skin suddenly slick with sweat and hands trembling where they clutch onto the toilet seat for dear life. Throwing up seems to have calmed my stomach so I sit back against the stall wall, tasting the bitter taste of stomach acid on my tongue, the scent of it burning my sensitive nose. The lights above me blur and I feel lightheaded, my senses must be overloading again. 

In all my years here, I've _never_ seen anything that bad. Hangi is crazy, yes, but I've never seen her do something like _this._ She did little more to me than prick me with a scalpel to see if my reaction to pain was as strong as my other senses. Even that little test had me messed up for a few weeks, the feeling of being so out of control haunted me, I can't imagine how Marco is going to feel, especially considering how Hangi has some weird prejudice against anesthesia because it may “mess up the results” or some shit.

I groan and hold my head in my hands. I sniff, rubbing at my nose, but the murky, metallic scent won't leave me. Jesus, why is this messing me up so fucking much?

 _God,_ has she been torturing Marco like this the whole time? He always said he was fine but I could tell he was off, but I chalked that up to being kidnapped by the government to become their very own super-soldier. She must have made the cut on his arm I saw earlier. I should have known. Jesus, he couldn't make anything easy on himself, could he? He just _had_ to get both a physical _and a_ self-healing Deviance. _Fuck,_ he doesn’t deserve this. Marco is _way_ too sweet to deserve this.

Anger rises within me- or maybe it's just another round of vomit. Either way, Hangi really crossed a line with this one. I’d be surprised if I don't rip her a new one when I next see her, even though I definitely don't have the balls for that. 

I palm my sweaty face, shakily standing up and washing my mouth out under the sink. I can smell the blood from all the way in here and I block my nose with the back of my wrist, the thick scent making me feel sick. I look pale in the mirror.

I trudge back into the main room but hug the walls, not wanting to hide in the bathroom but feeling too out of place to help the others, not that they need my help. Mikasa runs back in with bandages, and Armin, finished with the stitches, begins to unroll the gauze. I can literally smell the fear and trepidation that fogs the room, trapped within the thick walls. The others are lingering behind Armin, except for Annie, who's hunched on her bunk but staring towards the group. Eren reaches out a few times, probably trying to direct Armin’s hand, but Armin just slaps his hand away lightly and keeps working. Even through his miraculous composure, I can see the thin film of fear over his eyes, and I know that this is beyond what even he has seen before.

I let out a shaky breath, leaning against the wall to keep my knees from buckling and closing my eyes, my head spinning with all these disgusting smells of sweat and blood and Marco’s tears-

“Jean,” Armin calls. “Can you go get some clean rags and a bucket of water?” I crack open an eye, Armin isn't even looking in my direction, still engrossed in healing Marco.

I mutter some sort of confirmation and practically run out of the room. I don’t know if Armin chose me because he saw that I needed to get out of the room or because I seemed the most capable (doubtful), but I appreciate the chance to escape nonetheless. 

The scent of pain gets more muted the farther I get down the hallway, but it still hangs in the air like a thin fog.

Fuck, the rags. Where am I supposed to get rags? I quickly eliminate the kitchen, I have a feeling napkins won't do, so I’m left with the Med-ward, where Mikasa must have gotten the extra bandages and… where Marco just got dragged from. 

As the haze surrounding my head fades the farther I get from the door and the closer I get to the Med-ward, the angrier I am. What gives them the right to outright torture people under the thin guise of “science”?

Suddenly, guilt hits me in full force and my anger sizzles and fades, slowing me in my tracks. I _did_ assist in kidnapping Marco, I’m not exactly blameless. But it's not as If I had a choice, they would have gotten him with or without me, right? Deciding to file those thoughts for later under the _for when you need to hate yourself more_ section in the filing cabinet of my brain, I barge into the Med-ward, my lungs filling with the chemical smell of disinfectant, clenching my teeth and barely refraining from spitting the worst words I know at the staff inside with the last shreds of my self-control. 

The doctors and nurses and whoever the hell they are freeze in the middle of what they were doing the second they spot me, some of their eyes going as wide as dinner plates. _Yeah, you should be scared, motherfuckers._

Dr. Ral, one of the few staff members I actually like, approaches me like one wrong move might end with me telekinetically snapping her neck. I blow all the air out of my nose, suddenly mollified, trying to collect myself. This is not the place to make a scene. 

“I need some sterile rags and a bucket of water,” I grit out, managing to find my voice. _Because you made Marco bleed and then left it up to us to clean up your mess-_ I add with my eyes, hoping she gets the message. 

Dr. Ral nods at one of the nearby nurses and he scrambles to comply. I sigh. Contrary to popular belief I do not actually find joy in scaring the shit out of people. 

The nurse quickly fills a bucket in the sink in the corner and hangs some rags on the edge, setting it a few feet in front of me, obviously too scared to come any closer, which is stupid because my telekinesis works as far as I can see. Dr. Ral gazes at me warily with a kind, placating smile projected onto her lips, and as I reach for the bucket I hear it: Hangi’s manic giggling coming from a few rooms away. A second later the scent of blood, Marco’s blood, which I’m becoming quite familiar with, hits my nose.

I glower, my vision going red for a second and forgetting about not making a scene. I push past Dr. Ral despite her protests, the other doctors quickly move out of the way as I prowl down the hall connected to the Med-ward to where the medical rooms are located. I stop in front of the third door on the left, room number 006, where I can hear Hangi behind the door, fawning over _something._

“Don’t,” Dr. Ral warns, having followed me down the hall. I ignore her and push open the door with much more force than was necessary.

The room is surprisingly spacious, the floor made entirely of white tiles with a drain in the middle, harsh white lights buzzing in the ceiling, furnished with only a moveable surgical table with many, many straps hanging loose on it and a long counter with some computers against the left wall. What really catches my attention, though, is the mop that's sitting in a grimy, yellow bucket with foggy pink water sitting stagnant inside it, Hangi’s assistant, Moblit if I remember correctly, standing next to it with a hand on the handle. He’s staring at me and It's now that I notice the smears of red coating the ground around the table. I growl, spinning on Hangi who is adjusting her glasses with an unimpressed frown on her face, directed towards me. 

I’m about to- actually I don’t know what I’m about to do, but I spot what Hangi is studying and I realize that it doesn’t matter what I was or wasn’t going to do because _I’m going to fucking kill her._

She’s got big, glossy prints spread in front of her, the images printed on them of something I will never be able to unsee. The prints show Marco’s back, muscles exposed and skin held open with clamps, on display like meat in a butcher’s shop. I can see the outline of his spine and how the pink, bloody muscles connect to the root of his wings. A mostly translucent x-ray scan is overlaid on top of it, showing the bones. She quite literally flayed Marco like an animal.

I just stand there in shock for a few moments, head-spinning with rage, disgust and _I don't know-_

“ _Leave, now,”_ Dr. Ral commands from behind me. I ignore her, too busy fantasizing about taking revenge on Hangi for Marco because he's certainly too nice to do it himself, when the sharp buzz of my shock collar being turned on snaps me out of my thoughts like a bucket of ice water was dumped onto my head.

I slowly turn to face Dr. Ral, eyes widening when I see that she has a remote to my shock collar clutched threateningly in her hand, the switch flipped to _on_ and thumb hovering over the dial. The sharp sting of betrayal shoots through me and It _hurts,_ I thought she was one of the only genuinely good people here, she would always slip me some chocolate rations after my appointments or would joke with me after I get punished for fighting with Jaeger, but here she is, hand on the remote that can just as easily bring me to my knees as it can make me wish for death. I thought for sure she would object to what Marco had been subjected to, but here she is defending the very monster that did it to him.

I must have let some of my thoughts slip to my face because her expression softens slightly, and she visibly deflates. 

“Just- make this easier on all of us and leave, please.”

I turn one last time towards Hangi who is staring at me with her eyebrows raised, not looking the slightest bit guilty. I snarl and stalk out the door, not bothering to close it behind me. I pick up the bucket and rags on my way out, spilling some water on the ground but I certainly don't care, the more hassle for them the better. 

I can’t fucking believe it. There's nothing I hate more in this world than those collars, the collars they use to control us like unruly dogs, and _Petra-fucking-Ral_ almost used it on me. I know that I was relatively lucky, most wouldn't hesitate to have shocked me into submission the second I barged in there like an angry bull, but that thought doesn't make me feel any better. I growl to myself but lengthen my strides, feeling guilty that I took so long to get the rags and water. 

I shoulder open the door to the bunk room, grimacing when the stench of fear hits me once again, dropping the bucket at Armin’s feet, water sloshing angrily. Armin murmurs his gratitude without taking his focus off of Marco’s prone form. He must have told the others to scram because they’re all lingering by their bunks, obviously not sure what to do. Since my cot is currently _occupied,_ I join Sasha and Connie where they are nervously perched on the edge of Connie’s bed. I squeeze myself into the foot of his bed, hugging my knees to my chest, a hand attempting to dig under the collar. If Connie or Sasha notice my scratching, they don’t comment, not pausing their soft murmuring to each other. 

I lean my head back against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the stench of blood and the wet sounds of Armin wetting one of the rags to gently clean the blood from Marco’s back. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I sleep in Marco’s cot that night because he hasn't woken up yet, not that I blame him. I sure would want to stay unconscious for as long as possible if I were in his position. 

Armin managed to heal him to the point that the wounds are no longer open, but could only do so much without knocking himself out. The slashes are now pink and raised, but remarkably healed compared to what they looked like when he first got dragged in. Armin wrapped him in bandages again, tying his wings together as well to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. 

I can hear Eren’s soft snores, Connie's quiet mutterings, and Mikasa’s unnervingly silent breaths, but I focus on Marco’s breathing, which is still shallow. The occasional quiet groan or mumble breaks through his sleep but he is otherwise as still as a rock.

The pillow smells like Marco, like the scentless bars of soap they give us, like sweat and the faint trace of blood. I scowl, this was definitely not the first time they'd hurt him. 

I stare at the pillow, the fibers and pieces of fuzz looking like miniature mountains. Levi’s urging me to be less reliant on my blindfold but I don't see that happening anytime soon. If I looked, I’d bet I could make out every single strand of Historia’s hair from across the room, or count every one of Marco’s freckles. It's easy to get overwhelmed with all the input. 

I freeze as a short _gasp_ comes from under me. I practically leap to the railing and stick my head over it. Marco’s awake, blinking blurrily before making eye contact with me.

“Hey,” He croaks, bracing himself up on his elbows.

I stare at him for a moment. “Hey yourself. Are you okay?”

He examines the bandages like he just noticed them. “Y-yeah, Yeah I’m okay.”

I eye him dubiously. “That's what you said earlier, but you weren't.”

“What time is it?” He asks, changing the subject.

“After midnight.”

“Hmm.” A troubled look crosses his face and he sucks in a breath, suddenly much tenser than he was before, eyes blowing wide. 

I’m about to ask him if he needs anything but before I can, he lurches to his feet, going pale and swaying for a moment, and makes a break for the bathroom.

“Wait,” I hiss, trying not to wake everyone up. “You probably shouldn't be-” 

Marco just waves me off and mumbles something along the lines of “I'm fine.” He stumbles on nothing so I curse and swing myself out of bed, landing lightly on the concrete before rushing after him. 

I don’t know _why_ exactly I bother, usually, I would just say whatever and go back to sleep but… there's something about Marco that makes me want to protect him, even though he's probably much more capable than I am both physically and mentally. 

I make it to the bathroom right after him, flipping the light on dimly so he doesn't trip and hurt himself further. Marco shoves his hands under the tap and drinks deeply from them before splashing the water onto his face. I awkwardly stand in the doorway, watching him, not sure what to do.

He sighs and sinks to the floor, trembling, resting his chin on his knees and wrapping his arms around himself. He seems… fragile.

“Are you…” Asking if he's okay seems incredibly inappropriate, of course he's not. Deciding that silence is the best option (I’m not exactly the most comforting person), I sit next to him, leaning my head against the pipes under the sink. Apparently, this is our thing now, sitting in silence in the dark bathroom in the middle of the night. 

I don't know how long we sit there, but I have the feeling that Marco is not really _here_ but back in Hangi’s Lab, reliving whatever the hell she put him through. After a few minutes of working up the courage to, I break the silence. 

“You know how we got those two ratty couches back there?”

He turns and looks at me questionably, the bottom half of his face hidden by his arms. It's hard to see his eyes in the darkness but they look watery and round.

“They weren't always there, there used to be nothing but a metal table and a few uncomfortable chairs. That table had been through a lot, from Reiner accidentally putting a dent in it after he lost a game of Go-Fish to Ymir and Historia getting rather-uh _frisky_ on it-”

Marco winces at that but I think I can see a hint of a smile hidden under his arms.

“-but the real turning point was when Eren would play Poker with us. We’d bet anything from paperclips to Levi’s cigarettes that someone managed to snatch even though Ymir is the only one of us who really smokes.”

Marco quirks an eyebrow, probably wondering where I’m going with this.

“Well, Eren’s ‘tell’ every time he had something good was that he would send a little burst of energy through the table and end up shocking us, It fucking hurt but it let us always beat him. I guess he was just so excited that he couldn't keep his Deviance in his pants. “

Marco laughs, weakly, but it's definitely an improvement. I have the feeling that he's back in the present. 

“Anyway, Eren was always asking about how we always managed to beat him until Armin, nice as he is, told him. To say Eren was mad would be an understatement, he practically marched up to command and demanded we get some non-metal furniture.” I huff out a laugh, remembering Commander Smith’s face when Eren decided to approach him directly. “We were expecting them to give us a wooden table and maybe some chairs but instead we got those. They probably drove to the nearest landfill to find those gems.”

Marco chuckles.”Even so, they seem more comfortable than some metal chair.”

“They are,” I admit. “Until the supports break and you fall straight through the seat... I may or may not be speaking from experience.”

Marco’s smiling a little now, and I’m quite proud of myself. 

He’s still for a few moments, contemplating something before shifting towards me a little, unwrapping himself and instead sitting criss-cross. “What… what do they want with us?”

I blow out a long breath and chew on my tongue for a moment, considering the weighted question. “... Most of us are just science experiments for them, I think. Hangi is always talking about recreating our Devientations in normal people, well ‘normal people’,” I correct, making air quotes with my fingers. “I think Commander Erwin wants us to be soldiers though, even though I don’t know what exactly we would be fighting. They’re trying the most on Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie because they've been here the longest, they’re also the only ones they trust to go on real ‘missions’ even though they’ve had a… mixed success rate with them.” 

Marco stares at the ground, eyebrows scrunched in thought. He hums a delayed acknowledgment and goes silent again, eyes going distant.

I wonder… should I? ...sure, why the hell not.

“Do you feel good enough to walk?”

“Uh- yeah I guess.”

“Good,” I say, standing and offering him my hand. He contemplates it for a moment before taking it, letting me haul him up. I lead us out of the bathroom and through the main room, I catch Ymir's eye from where she's lounging on Historia’s cot, the girl in question snuggled against her chest, asleep. She quirks a brow, eyes darting between Marco and me. I throw her a dirty look, hopefully, she can see the metaphysical daggers I’m sending her way in the dark. I open the main door as quietly as I can, practically pushing Marco out before slipping through myself. 

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be out here?” He asks nervously, hooking a finger on his shock collar and pulling at it, much like you would a collared shirt. 

“Technically? No. But Levi _basically_ said it's fine, sides’, he likes me.” That last part is definitely a lie, Levi tolerates me on his best days but Marco doesn't need to know that. “Come on,” I encourage, pouting when Marco still looks skeptical. He sighs and follows me, but I can see a poorly hidden smile emerge onto his face. I turn and bite my cheek, fighting against a grin.

I lead us down the sterile white halls, which are now dim and grey with the night. We pass a few black-clad guards on the way but they just watch us pass. _Ha_ , Smith knows that if he lets us go where we want then we'll be more manageable.

When we reach the stairway I take the steps two at a time while Marco follows a little less enthusiastically. The door at the top is painted a dull green and the chain that used to be locked around the metal handle is still on the floor underneath it. I don't know if they either never check this door (doubtful), or if they just don't care because they could easily shoot me down the second I try to leave Base (much more likely), but either way, I don't really care as long as they don't stop me. 

I push open the door, the cool air and the soothing sounds of the wind hitting me immediately and I can't hold back a grin. I hold the door open for Marco like the gentleman I am, and when he walks through I can see his expression change from anxious to awed almost immediately.

It's got to be gone past 1 am by this point but it's the perfect time to be out here. The desert stretches out in all directions, the lights from Base bathing the dust and dirt in light and illuminating all the little rocks and twigs. The cold, dry breeze brushes past us and makes the sand swim around our ankles like a waterless pool. I take a deep breath, the clean outside air feeling so much smoother than the recycled shit inside, but the real reason I took Marco here was the clear view of the night sky, and, judging by his expression, I was right to think he’d like it. 

I don’t know where Base is located, but it must be in the middle of nowhere because even I admit that the night sky is _spectacular_. Without the lights of the city obscuring it, swirls of purple and blue paint the sky, the faint wisps of distant nebulas giving it a kind of cotton candy texture. The many, many stars stand out clearly against the dark backdrop as glowing beacons of light stretching across the impossibly smooth fabric of space. The Milkyway creates a fluid slash across the sky, blossoms of pink and red staining cloudy clusters of stars and galaxies around it. A glassy, crescent moon sits almost straight above us, like a dim spotlight shining onto us. The surrounding plateaus are like dark cardboard cut-outs framing the scene while grounding us, the distant horizon glowing a faint white.

I rarely get to feel so free anymore, the ever-expanding abyss behind our atmosphere never seems so open as it does on nights like these. 

It's dark out but my eyes don't have much trouble finding Marco’s brightened face from where I stand now a few feet behind him. My smile falls, however, when I see the bandages wrapped around him like a poor man’s tube top

Marco, oblivious to my thoughts, slowly turns in a circle, absorbing the view.

“Not bad, right?” I comment, passing Marco as I walk to my usual spot on the roof to lean on the railing.

“It’s _beautiful_ , I didn't know the sky could look like this, It doesn't look like this in the city.”

“That's the desert for ya, hella hot but the night skies make it worth it,” I say like I have any choice in my being here. 

His Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows thickly, hesitantly joining me at the railing. 

I’d like to say that I brought him out here because I knew it would cheer him up, because he experienced horrors that no one ever should, but really, I just wanted to come out here myself and didn’t want to leave Marco by himself. 

I don't even notice how tense he is until he's not, when he leans his elbows on the railing and his shoulders fall as he goes less rigid.

“What does the world think happened to us? Do they think we disappeared?” His voice goes lower, softer. “Do they think we’re dead?”

I turn to him, a little startled by the non-sequitur. His eyes start to glisten, reflecting the soft starlight.

Oh God, please, please don't cry- I’m not cut out for that- 

He breathes deeply, a little shakily, but continues to stare at the stars, no tears falling.

I purse my lips and study the cold, metal railing between my arms, mulling over my next words. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out for a moment. “I don’t know,” I choke. “I don’t know.”

He nods acceptingly and hangs his head, hair falling over his eyes. 

In that instance I feel it- not the whispers of the wind blowing past us, pulling at our hair, not the coldness of the metal bar beneath my arms that seeps into my bones, but the feeling of reluctant _acceptance._

I had been dragged here in a totally different circumstance than Marco, me kicking and screaming while he got unknowingly ambushed in his home, but we both had the same moment of knowing that this is our life now, we can't go back.

“I really miss my family.”

The words hit me like a punch in the gut. 

So, he likes to talk about his feelings instead of bottling them up inside. I can respect that.

I stare at the ground below me, not really seeing anything, for a long stretch of time. “...yeah… me too.”

I sink down to the floor, sitting with my legs crossed before abandoning that idea entirely to lay starfish-style on my back. Marco wipes his eye with the back of his hand and looks down at me. He snorts unattractively, ruining the moment we were having. Or maybe I ruined it. I don't really care.

A grin breaks out on my face and I laugh more freely than I suspect I have in years. This is ridiculous. A crooked smile fights his way to his face as well and he rolls his eyes, laying down much more gently than I had, wings partially spread so the wingtips come only a few inches short of my fingers. 

I stare up at the night sky, closed lips still stretched into a genuine smile. The sky spirals above me but, for once, it doesn't make me feel dizzy. I can feel Marco’s warmth beside me, one of the only things that can break the hold the coldness seems to have on this place. 

Out here it's easy enough to pretend that it's just us and the universe, far from the Corps and the suffering they bring, and if it weren't for the security cameras that I know are trained on us at this very moment, it could almost be true. 

“Oh- Is that a shooting star?” Marco points vaguely upwards. 

Marco’s finger is not at all helpful. I squint at the sky, taking a moment to find what he’s talking about.

“No,” I chortle. “That's a satellite, shooting stars are much faster.” 

Marco puts his hand down, looking slightly embarrassed. 

We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, well, at least I do, I don't know about Marco. Does he find it weird that some guy he barely knows dragged him out here in the middle of the night to look at the stars? Probably. I mean, even I didn't expect to bring him out here, I've never shown anyone else this place, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who knows about it. But trauma brings people together, I guess. 

“You know, I've always loved the stars,” Marco begins, startling me out of my thoughts. I turn my head to face him, only to find that he’s already looking at me, but he turns back to the sky when our eyes meet. “They make us seem so small and space so vast, I always wonder what's actually out there. There could be other planets just like ours for all we know.” 

I can’t stop myself from chuckling.

“Wha- what?” He asks, laughing a little with me even though he doesn't know why.

“Nothing, It's just ironic- I always say I hate the stars for that exact reason,” I say, shrugging as much as I can while laying down. “Maybe I’m just bitter that I can't leave this planet for another one or something, I don't know.”

I expect him to laugh at me, or ask how in the world I can hate _stars,_ no one hates stars, but he just nods thoughtfully instead. 

I expect him to keep talking, he seems like the type of person who would want to fill the silence, but he doesn't, so I turn back to the stars, folding my arms behind my head as a pillow. 

We stay like that for some time, I’m not sure how long exactly, time seems to pass differently out here, but It’s long enough that the cold night air starts to sink into my bones and raise the hair on my arms. 

When did we get to this point? I've barely known the guy for two weeks and here we are stargazing together. I barely hold back a chuckle. It's definitely more on his part than mine, he's one of the only people here aside from Armin (and sometimes Ymir), to actually seek me out and it's… weird. But I don't hate it, even if my social skills are a little… lacking.

Eventually, obviously not plagued by the same thoughts, Marco points up into the sky again. (can’t he tell that I don't know what he's pointing at?)

“There’s Orion's Belt.” Sure enough, the string of three stars is glowing brighter than the surrounding stars, right above the horizon. “And there’s Jupiter,” He adds, gesturing towards the orange-looking not-star. 

“You like astronomy?” I ask, intrigued.

He shrugs, seeming a little embarrassed. “My Dad was a huge astronomy nerd and he kind of passed it on to me.”

I catch the ‘ _was’_ in there but decided not to comment, filing that in my brain for later. “Any other constellations you see?”

He squints. “I _think_ that’s Virgo up there, the one that kinda looks like a snail.”

I’m _pretty sure_ I know which stars he's talking about, and if I don't, I pretend I do. I whistle playfully. “Wow, you've got quite the knowledge of stars, bet you've been dying to show that off.”

Even in the darkness, I think I see him flush. “This is hardly high-level astronomy, anyone could recognize Orion's Belt.”

“I didn't,” I say, just for the sake of arguing. What can I say? I’m a contrarian. 

“Yeah, but you're…” He waves his hand in a vague gesture.

I quirk an eyebrow and stare at him for a moment. “Wow, thanks.”

He blushes even more and sits up on his elbows. “That's not what I meant!”

“I know, I know, I’m just playing with you,” I reassure, waving him off. He throws me a mock glare and falls back onto his back.

I think I see him wince a little, but it might have been a trick of the night. I wonder if the incisions are still bugging him or if they've healed by now. My happy mood slowly falls away as I remember the scent of his blood clogging my brain and the red smears on the tile in Hangi’s lab. I inhale through my nose deeply, taking in the cold, clean air but it fails to dislodge the memory.

Marco points out a few more stars and constellations and I catch a glimpse of an _actual_ shooting star, which he misses, much to his disappointment. We lay there for long enough that the same satellite passes over us again, starting on a new lap around the earth.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I _definitely_ regret staying up all night. I wasn't able to sleep at all after we got back, I stared at the ceiling until Levi yelled for us to get up (sometimes I think he enjoys that too much). Marco made me take his cot for the rest of the night, under the fact that he had bled all over mine, which he's not wrong about. I can’t wait for Sunday, where we get to train either outside or in the pool, depending on Levi’s mood, but alas, it's only Thursday so I have to suffer through three more unbearable training sessions until then. 

I yawn, barely keeping my eyes from sliding shut while I amble around the back wall, trying to look like I’m doing something and not just slacking off. I glance to where Marco is running the track with Eren, looking _way_ to chipper for getting maybe 2 hours of sleep if he was lucky, especially considering yesterday's whole… _ordeal._ How he has enough energy to put up with _Jaeger_ of all people at 7:30 in the morning I'll never know, but it's a skill I certainly wish I had. He looks better than yesterday, almost _too_ much better, his back was completely healed when he took the bandages off this morning, only the faintest pink lines remain as evidence that what happened yesterday wasn't just a dream. I wonder how much of his lively actions today are just a facade so we don’t see the pain, he seems stubborn in that way. Then again, even last night he was handling everything much better than I ever could, so maybe it’s just part of his personality. 

Distantly, I pick up a faint _whirring_ sound… Are those cars? The purr of straining engines is steadily getting closer and I can vaguely make out the gritty sound as they kick up the desert sand.

I look around, no one else has heard it yet. I turn back to the window, squinting against the sunlight, just in time for three Hummers and a black Humvee to speed through the wire gates and screech to a stop in front of the main building, about a hundred yards diagonally to my left. 

Hearing the commotion, a few of the others join me at the window, a quick glance back verifies that the others are craning to see through the window from their original spots, probably too scared to invoke Levi’s wrath by leaving. 

We watch as a strong, blond figure is wrestled out of one of the dusty black Hummers, a taller man ducking out of the car much more mellowly, but being grabbed harshly by the arms anyway by two of the soldiers around them. 

“Well, They’re back,” Connie states. 

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Ymir snarks. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Annie run to the window, cracking it open and clutching the windowsill so hard her knuckles go white as she comes a centimeter from smashing her nose against the glass, eyes wide but expression unreadable.

Thanks to Annie, I can now hear as, still outside the main entrance, Reiner is bucking and fighting against the soldiers trying to restrain him like a wolf stuck in a bear trap, clocking one of the soldiers, who I now recognize to be his handler, on the cheek with his hardened fist. I can barely make out another soldier desperately dialing Reiner’s shock collar up all the way, but Reiner stays unaffected, he must have had time to harden his neck, electricity cannot flow through stone, after all.

“Is he having an episode?” Sasha asks. Erens grunts out a ‘yes’, before grimacing and turning away, Mikasa following.

I cringe in sympathy as the soldier fumbles and clicks the remote again, flicking the light on Bertholdt’s collar from green to orange to red, knowing what's about to happen. Bertholdt goes down with a choked off yelp, withering and kicking up the thin sheet of orange dust across the concrete. Reiner lets out a low whine of despair that I can barely hear, immediately ceasing his struggling and going limp as three of the soldiers immediately shove him to the ground.

“Did they…?” Connie trails of, squinting, vision not as good as mine.

“Yeah,” I confirm, clenching my fingers, nails biting into my palms. “They did.” Oldest trick in the book: Hurt Bertholdt or Annie to control Reiner.

Annie growls under her breath, an unsurprisingly scary sound.

Marco comes up to my left, face a picture of concern and eyes darting between Annie and the commotion outside. “Are these the other two you told me about?” He asks, tightening his wings against him like a security blanket. 

I hum in confirmation, watching with a low feeling of dread as Commander Smith strides through the sliding doors of the main building, green uniform coat flowing dramatically behind him. He stops a few feet from the two Deviants and strikes up a conversation with the Orderly, who is very stereotypically holding a clipboard, completely ignoring Reiner’s glares and Bertholdt's whimpering. The soldier finally shuts off the shock collar at Smith’s nod and I can see Bertholdt’s relieved panting from all the way back here. 

They talk for a few more minutes, I can see their mouths move but can’t hear their words over the growls of the Humvee’s engine as they drive it back to it’s hanger. Smith finishes with a nod and turns on his heels, stalking back through the double doors much like a lion would after a failed kill. Bertholdt is pulled through the doors not far behind him, but Reiner is dragged in the opposite direction.

“Hey! Back to work or ten more laps for each of you!” Levi shouts with obvious displeasure.

I begrudgingly turn from the windows and back to the training room. Marco looks like he wants to ask something, mouth opening and closing a few times before he ultimately decides against it. 

I sigh, shaking my head minutely and wishing for my blindfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry Erwin, baby, that this ugly bitch (me) would do this to you. 
> 
> This was supposed to be a short fic to celebrate the end of AP testing but it's quickly spiraling out of control and turning into a monster (but I don't regret it).
> 
> The next chapter will probably be out either next weekend or the weekend after. If there are any glaring errors in here feel free to tell me, I couldn't quite bring myself to go over all 10k words a fourth time.
> 
> Feedback or kudos is greatly appreciated!


	5. In the woods somewhere

**11:13 am, May 18th, 2022**

**Elisa Bodt**

The shiny granite headstone taunts her. 

The soft grass reaches up like tiny hands grasping at her flats, trying to drag her down with them. She’s sweaty despite the chill- why the hell do they keep everything outside?

She stares blankly at the headstones surrounding her, all resting on the grass like bad omens. She’s never had to buy something like this- her sister had taken care of funeral arrangements when her parents had passed. She’s not sure where to start. 

“This one is a popular choice this year,” The Funeral Director is saying in his annoyingly monotone voice and she hums, but she isn't really listening. The one he’s gesturing to is simple and grey, yet- she checks the price tag- still 1,000 dollars.

“Yeah, let’s do that one,” she says softly but flatly. The funeral Director looks surprised.

“You don’t want to look at other options?”

“No- uh,” she clears her throat. “No, I’ll take that one.”

After confirming the time she’ll pick up the newly engraved headstone tomorrow, she rushes back to her car through the barren parking lot, unable to handle one more moment in that place. 

The sky is a murky grey that sits heavily above her, blocking out the sun and muting the colors of the street signs and shops across the road. She fumbles with her keys and slams the door of her sister’s car shut (she couldn’t even look at her own anymore) and curls up in the driver’s seat, resting her arms and head on the steering wheel. 

She sobs freely, not caring that anyone could look through the window and see her. She doubts she was the first to cry here anyway, this is the parking lot of a funeral home, after all.

The police had ruled it a suicide despite her protests, and now the funeral is in a few days, and she doesn’t know how to _handle it._

After an indefinite amount of time, she sits up, wiping her tears away and tucking the hair that had stuck to her face with tears behind her ears. She looks into the rearview mirror; her eyes are puffy and red, her hair messy and tangles, her black blouse, a weak attempt at looking composed, is rumpled.

Her lip wobbles and, in a surge of anger, she beats both of her hands against the steering wheel until they hurt. Exhausted, she falls back into her seat, eyes drifting out of the window hopelessly when she remembers that to get home she’ll have to cross the bridge where the family car was found over two weeks ago, a suicide note taped neatly to the seat, no driver to be found. 

She seethes as she remembers how the officers brushed her off, the handwriting was a match, the language quirks matched, his fingerprints were in the car but she knew he _wouldn’t do that._ She begged them to re-open the investigation, no body was found, there _must_ be foul play, but apparently, no one will bat their eyes at a teen suicide these days.

She huffs and lays in the car for another number of minutes, vision still blurry with tears.

  
  


**2:36 pm, May 18th, 2022**

**Marco Bodt**

  
  


_“P-Please- stop,” I beg, almost choking on my own tongue. Hangi ignores me, digging the forceps deeper into my shoulder, tapping the bone. I bite the cushion of the surgical table, leaving deep indents, my salty tears bleeding onto my tongue. The metal underneath my chest is sticky and hot and it sticks to my skin. My skin tears against her blade and I taste sour bile in my throat. I'm surprised I haven't vomited yet, the smell of my own blood assaults my nose and my stomach is rolling._

_Hangi sticks her ear closer to the exposed part of my back, skin held open by clamps and looking like a second pair of wings. Her hair tickles my bicep, where my skin is thankfully still attached. She taps the bone again. Like she's knocking on a door and waiting for an answer, I hysterically think._

_“Well then, it seems you do have hollow bones, how exciting!”_

_I’m scared I’m going to shatter my teeth, I’m clenching them so hard. I can feel the steady drip, drip, drip of blood pulsing down my sides and pooling underneath me until finally overflowing onto the tile below. I focus on the splattering of my blood onto the white floor, creating a small puddle and painting the white tiles a bright red. The acidic smell of antiseptic and the metallic scent of blood creates an unholy mixture that attacks my senses and stings my eyes._

_My wings twitch from where they're being spread and restrained at my sides, giving Hangi space to do her… work. My vision swims with tears and delirium and I can barely make out the blur that is Dr. Ral, casting concerned glances my way from where she's… doing something. Processing the pictures Hangi took rather voyeuristically? At least, I think she’s concerned, the blue medical mask that covers most of her face makes her mostly expressionless. I try to signal her with her eyes to please, please, save me, but she just turns back to the screen, ignoring my desperation._

_Hangi rolls her chair in front of the surgical bed, leaning down so she's only inches from my face. I give her the best glare I can muster, which I’m sure is pathetic but hopefully gets the point across._

_She raises her hand to pat my head but must think better of it at the last second, her gloves still soaked with blood. Instead, she pulls down her medical mask and grins adoringly, calling for one of her assistants to come stitch up my back._

_As hands tug at the flaps of my skin my vision goes white, eventually, finally, fading to black as my mind drifts, not quite conscious but not unconscious either._

I shudder, rolling my shoulders and flexing my back, only the slightest sting coming from the thin scars stretched across my skin, nothing compared to what it was, how it _should_ feel. Geez, I already healed from yesterday’s _experiment_. I curse my healing factor, I might not have had to endure that torture if it weren’t for it. 

I sigh from my place on my own cot, someone having changed Jean’s bloody sheets while we were in training this morning.

What makes everything worse is that Jean isn't here, he's having ‘specialized training’ with Captain Levi today, whatever that means. 

Jean is definitely the closest thing I have to a friend right now. Sasha and Connie are nice and Armin is a good person to go to if you want to talk, but after my first night here, I’ll admit, I've gotten a little attached to him, he's like my lifeboat in this place. I get the feeling that he enjoys my company too. The balcony he took me too last night seems to be his place, judging by how protective he is over it, and the fact that he showed it to me probably means he doesn't hate me, even if it’s hard to tell sometimes.

Even though he's never said it, I sense that he doesn't always get along with the rest of the team, most of them at least. I still can’t tell if his bickering with Eren is friendly or not, maybe it's a little bit of both. I can see why they wouldn't get along, they are a lot alike, both blunt and sarcastic, but Eren is certainly much more reckless than Jean, which might be where the fighting stems from. 

I watch Ymir as she paces like a caged animal, bare feet silent against the concrete. Historia got taken in for an ‘appointment’ with Hangi an hour and a half ago and all she's been doing since then is growling; even Eren keeps his distance, apparently not looking for a fight. 

Connie and Sasha are out training with their handlers, so it’s just me, Armin, Eren, Mikasa, Annie, Ymir, and Bertholdt (who I've yet to have a conversation with), here. The other Deviant- Reiner, is apparently in ‘Correctional Treatment’. Bertholdt and Annie seem close, they’re currently hunched, silently, on Reiner’s previously empty bunk.

I divert my attention back to the deck of cards Armin loaned me, spread out in a pretty sad excuse of a game of Solitaire. How one can lose so badly in a game of _Solitaire,_ I don’t know, but I’m certainly doing it. _Okay… Red Queen of Hearts onto a Black King of Clubs… now what._ Am I even playing this right? Wondering if I've had the knowledge of how to play Solitaire knocked out of me the past few days, I almost don’t notice Armin’s hesitant knock on the railing.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you wanted a partner to play with? Eren’s in one of his moods right now so he's no fun.”

I glance towards Eren, he seems the same as always, fidgeting and sketching something on a notepad, but I scooch over for Armin nonetheless. He smiles gratefully and I gather the cards back into a deck and begin shuffling them.

“Crazy Eights?” He asks, sitting criss-cross and gathering his hands in his lap.

“Sure.” The last time I played Crazy Eights was a few months ago with Mina, on a hot weekend when we had nothing else to do but sit outside and play cards. I tighten my lips, struggling to keep the cards from exploding everywhere.

“Here,” Armin says, reaching a hand out. I hand the cards to him, watching as he splits them into two even stacks and effortlessly leafs them. I sit on my hands to keep them from twitching, a little nervous about why Armin has approached me all of the sudden. Sure, I’m probably reading too much into it, but still, he must want to talk about something. I've seen him deal with Eren’s explosions of anger without batting an eye so his excuse of him being in a mood is a flimsy one. 

He deals both of us seven cards, sitting back as he sets the rest of the deck between us and flipping the top card over. I don’t have any eights. He gestures for me to go first so I set a card down, not really seeing anything. We take a few more turns each until Armin finally sighs, a small sound, and I look up.

“How are you fairing?” He asks softly, not taking his eyes off of his cards. I audibly swallow, shrugging. 

“I’m fine, about as good as I can be, I guess.” I try not to mumble but it comes out like that anyway. 

He hums, his facial expression not changing, but I can see a hint of worry as he rakes his eyes over me not-so-discreetly. 

“You know,” He starts, pushing a strand of blond hair behind his ear and finally meeting my eyes. “I’m only number 010, meaning everyone other than Sasha, Connie, and you were here before me, yet I've been here for almost seven years. I got taken a couple of days before my 10th birthday. SURVEY got Jean only a couple weeks before me, so you can imagine how excited they were.” 

I watch him, not sure how I’m supposed to respond. Luckily, he doesn't wait for one and puts another card down. “We actually had two other Deviants here, their names were Isabel and Farlan, water and flora based Deviants respectively. They had been here for years before me but I only knew them for a few weeks… look, I’m not going to go into the specifics because it's not my place, but Jean…” he pauses for a moment, probably considering his words. “... blames himself for their deaths and often distances himself so… It’s good that he's talking to you.”

I pause, about to ask what the hell happened, but he continues, not giving me time to dwell on it.

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing in my power I can do to stop Hangi, but I just want you to know that-”

Suddenly, an uncharacteristically polite knock sounds from behind the door and Armin pauses in the middle of his sentence, mouth hanging open. All the heads in the room snap towards the door as it's pushed open, a familiar broad figure stepping just inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. Armin’s breath hitches. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but may I borrow Special Agent 013 for a moment?” 

All eyes dart to me and I freeze, clenching my teeth and eyes blowing wide. Special Agent? When did I become an Agent? Armin shifts out of my way and, after taking a moment to remember where I am and who’s talking to me, I slowly ease myself down the ladder, Armin brushing a hand against my arm in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture but really only increases my rising anxiety. 

Commander Smith flashes me an open-lipped smile, ignoring my hunched shoulders and opening the door for me. I skirt through, trying to keep as much distance between me and him as possible. This is like getting sent outside after getting in trouble with your teacher, except the teacher might actually have you killed. 

Outside the door, I startle as I almost run into a very, very, tall man. Well, his chest at least, I have to tilt my head upward to even see his face. See, most people would say I’m tall, but this guy’s gotta be almost half a foot taller than me. Commander Smith closes the door behind him and I jump backward, putting space between me and the two soldiers, flushing when the tall one snorts. Great, now I’m trapped in a hallway with two very intimidating men- my eyes dart to their waists- with guns. 

“This is Mike Zacharias,” Erwin says, gesturing towards the man. _Mike_ is dressed in the typical black kevlar and has hair that's parted down the middle that drapes over his eyes. If I weren't so uncomfortable, I could probably find amusement in how it resembles a shaggy dog. “He’s going to be your handler.”

I blink. I knew everyone else had handlers but I didn't actually consider that I would get one too.

Mike sniffs and holds out his hand in a weak gesture of friendliness. It rubs me the wrong way, this action is obviously supposed to give me a sense that we're equals, even though I’m being held captive here against my will and he’s here to what, control me? I shake his hand anyway, his grip just a little too firm as he suffocates my hand in his.

“He’s going to oversee your personal training from now on, and will be tasked with making sure you behave.” Erwins eyes do this weird _twinkle_ thing, like Santa Claus’ evil twin. “-But that won't be required, right? I can already tell you're a smart one.”

I weakly chuckle, rubbing a hand over my arm. My shock collar weighs heavy on my throat, suddenly making it difficult to breathe. I've never been good at facing authority. Mike suddenly leans closer and my thoughts freeze and my fists clench at my sides as I stare at Commander Smith with wide eyes who just watches, totally unconcerned. Mike sniffs again… Is he _smelling me?_ After a few more _sniffs_ he straightens, nodding to himself with a vaguely pleased expression on his face. I let my shoulders fall, bewildered. 

“He’s a Green-class Deviant as you can see, but don’t underestimate him,” Commander Smith says pleasantly. 

I nod, not sure how I’m supposed to answer that. Is his Deviance his sense of smell or something?

“Well then, I’ll let you get back to your business, I just wanted to personally introduce him to you, we don’t get new Deviants all the time, after all.”

Commander Smith turns, heels clicking on the concrete as he parades back down the hall, Mike giving me a nod before entering a door about ten feet down the hall from the bunk room, which I’m _pretty sure_ is where the other handlers live. 

I’m wondering _how_ exactly, one becomes a handler while reaching for the door handle of the bunk room, when rapidly approaching footsteps yank me from my thoughts. 

Historia is speed-walking towards me, on the verge of running, a black-haired woman, her handler, following at a much more reasonable pace. I open the door for her and she darts in, not sparing me a glance. I warily eye her handler but she doesn't look at me, so I close the door behind me before she passes.

Historia has launched herself into Ymir’s waiting arms, muffled mumbles coming from under her muzzle. 

I look to my bunk but Armin’s gone and I find him on the floor next to Mikasa’s bunk, reading a book. He looks up and shoots me a concerned look when he spots me. I shrug, signaling that I’m fine. 

A few minutes later, Jean stumbles in, immediately going to his box under his bed and tying the blindfold on over his eyes, collapsing on his bed with a groan.

“Uh- you okay?” I ask.

He grumbles something incomprehensible, appearing to already be on the verge of falling asleep. 

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Reclining on my bed, I barely refrain from yelping, dropping the book I've been _trying_ to read that Armin loaned me from his mini-library under his bed as Captain Levi kicks the main door open and starts to shout through his megaphone.

“Cooperative training in ten minutes flat- if you're late I won't hesitate to kick your sorry ass to China and back!”

A chorus of groans ring out throughout the room but Captain Levi has already left, leaving the door swinging after him. 

“I swear, Levi loves that megaphone too much,” Jean grumbles from below me. “Hey, what time is it?”

“Almost five,” I answer, sliding down from my bunk, thankful that I hadn't changed out of my training clothes yet.

“It’ll be dark enough,” Jean mumbles to himself, slipping off his blindfold and shoving it back into his box, blinking a few times.

I stretch, cracking my neck, shock collar uncomfortably digging into my skin. I suck air through my nose, suddenly remembering how Hangi shocked me after I resisted being strapped onto the surgical table. Rubbing a hand over the collar again, the phantom pain washes over me and I’m pretty sure my lip wobbles.

“You good man?” Jean asks, squinting at me. He grimaces the second after he asks it and waves off my half-formed answer. “Sorry.”

I blink, not sure what he’s apologizing for. 

The rest of the group quickly filters out of the room, heeding Levi’s warning about not being late. I follow Jean through the halls, not sure where we’re going, but the group’s handlers follow after us; I easily spot Mike’s tall figure. I briefly wonder who Jean’s handler is, I haven't seen anyone following him around. Eventually, after half a dozen turns through identical-looking halls, we emerge into a wide, fenced-off field of dirt and gravel exposed under the dimming evening sky. The air is cool, dry, and refreshing. 

“Alright brats, you know the drill, partner up and practice your hand-to-hand. And absolutely no Deviances.” Levi glares at each of us in turn. “013, you're going to practice with Zacharias since it's your first time here.”

I gulp, turning towards the man. The others break off and partner up, out of the corner of my eye I can see Eren shoot Jean a wolfish grin while tying up his hair. Jean rolls his eyes and joins him with a comment I can’t make out.

I shuffle, hyper-aware of the other guards watching my back, shifting the gravel below me as Mike positions himself in front of me. His bulletproof vest under his shirt gives him quite the advantage, but I suppose it doesn't really matter because I already know that he’ll have trouble knocking me down. I've never fought anyone before, not even in some scrap at school. 

Thankfully, instead of throwing me straight into it as I had feared, he runs through the basics with me, how to stand, where to hold my hands, where to shift my weight, and so on. Mike doesn't talk much, he communicates mostly through grunts and the occasional gruff command but I’m not bothered, the silence is welcome after hours of Hangi’s rambling. 

I glance over Mike’s shoulder; Jean and Eren look like they're having _way_ too much fun beating each other up, they certainly aren't pulling their punches. 

Levi blows his whistle a few times to signal the others to change partners but Mike keeps me where I am, teaching me how to block a punch properly. I’m distracted from the lesson, though, when laughter rings out from the others. I turn to find Eren in the dirt, Annie standing over him with a bored expression on her face. He scrambles like a crazed cat to get up, but Annie effortlessly knocks him down again.

Eventually, Mike dismisses me to rejoin the group after the screech of Levi’s whistle once again pierces my ears. I stand there for a moment, a little lost. Everyone else is already starting to pick partners again but I, luckily for my anxiety, spot Jean standing off to the side, alone. I jog over to him, grinning. He scoffs as he watches me approach but lets me join him without complaint. 

Jean flips a wooden knife in his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” He says, tossing me the knife. “Come at me.”

I eye him dubiously. I have absolutely no clue on how to ‘come at him’, but I weigh the knife in my hand before clenching it in my fist and just kinda… running at him. Jean effortlessly sidesteps me and trips me up, sending me sprawling onto my back. _Ouch,_ who the hell decided we should practice on _gravel?_

“Not gonna lie, that was pretty horrible,” Jean says from somewhere above me. “But it’s fine, I do have like, seven more years of practice than you.” I half-heartedly glare at him while I straighten myself, brushing off my thighs and shaking off my wings from that rather humiliating display.

Jean snorts. “Okay, here.” He hands me the knife back (I don't know how or when he acquired it), instructing me to stand next to him. “You don’t wanna come straight at me, that gives me plenty of time to evade you.” 

I nod, not really understanding. Jean seems to recognize this and I watch as he runs a hand through his (rather soft-looking) hair, huffing a breath out of his mouth. 

“I think It’ll be easier to teach defense, rather than offense,” he decides, grabbing the fake knife out of my hand. I can’t help but follow his hand with my eyes as he tucks in under his waistband. 

“Do this,” Jean commands, standing with one foot in front of the other, bringing his fists up to the sides of his face and keeping his elbows tucked in. “This is a good stance for when you don’t really know how to fight, but want to look like you do. Any of that shit Zacharias taught you is gonna be useless right now, it takes a while to learn.”

I mimic him, bringing my fists up and keeping my wings tucked close. 

“Tuck your chin in, you don’t wanna get knocked out.” I can feel my face redden when Jean pushes my chin down with a finger.

 _“_ There,” He says when I successfully side-step him. “We might make a fighter out of you yet.”

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It’s dark by the time Levi blows his whistle to signal the end of hand-to-hand training. I barely refrain from panting, surprisingly tired, especially considering the fact that I was just being shown the ropes.

Jean and I jog over to where the others have started to gather in a half-circle around Captain Levi. Armin is healing a whimpering Sasha’s broken finger while Connie teases her about her “wack-ass punch”. I slide in between Jean and Ymir but keep myself back, wings making it hard to find space. 

“-you won’t always be able to work with people who Deviantations complement yours, so I’ll be choosing your partners.” Captain Levi says, much to Connie's apparent disappointment. 

He pairs up Sasha with Jean, Mikasa with Annie and… Me with Bertholdt. I stop listing as he lists off the others.

Bertholdt timidly waves at me. The other groups break off so I do too, Bertholdt following a few steps behind me. 

“Um… what are we supposed to be doing?” I ask him, realizing that this is the first time I’ve spoken to him.

“We’re supposed to figure out how to make our Devientations work together, but… I don't know how ours could… I’m usually paired up with Reiner or Annie...” 

I get the feeling that he doesn't like talking very much. I observe the others; Mikasa is propelling Annie gracefully through the wind, Sasha is shooting targets that Jean throws wildly into the air, Eren, Connie, and Ymir, the one group of three, are… actually I don’t know what they're doing, and I’m not sure I want to know.

Suddenly, I realize that I don’t even know what Bertholdt's Deviantation is, so I ask.

“Oh, I can- uh, make things age really fast.” 

I blink.

“Here- uh.” He bends down and picks a small weed that had been valiantly growing through the gravel. “Look.” The plant in his hand starts to curl up into itself, rapidly shrinking and turning to brown, and then black. In less than a second a black, shriveled little husk sits where the green weed was a moment ago.

“Oh-” I start, about to say how that was pretty cool, but he waves me off.

“Yeah, I know. It's pretty freaky,” He says, and I notice a pair of thick black gloves hanging out of his pocket, suddenly remembering that I've never seen him without them on, but it hadn't really registered in my brain.

“Is that why you wear the gloves?”

He nods, looking at his feet. “Most of the soldiers here are pretty scared of me, as you can imagine..." He goes from sad to downright scared in less than a second. “S-sorry! I didn't mean to make this about me-”

“Nononono, you aren't, I was the one who brought it up after all.” Geez, everyone here has some serious self-esteem issues. I guess that's bound to happen when you get collars slapped onto you and handlers to control you, I think darkly, tightening my lips. And what was that about making people sick?

He hums, rubbing his arm, not looking all that convinced.

I decide to take a risk. “Is Reiner still not back?”

If it's possible, his expression darkens and lightens at the same time. “N-no, not yet, but hopefully will be soon, Annie will be excited to see him.”

“Hmm.” I stare at the ground for a moment, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. “And, what can Reiner do?”

Bertholdt looks surprised at the question but not averse to answering it. “He can harden parts of himself, basically to stone.”

I hum in reply again, nodding at the ground like the gravel is telling me about its _very_ rough day, but thankfully Levi interrupts before the silence can get more awkward.

“What are we standing around talking for? This isn't kindergarten!” 

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“Are you sure this is safe?” Jean asks Mikasa dubiously, eyes darting between me and her. Mikasa shrugs.

“Should be.”

“It’s fine Jean,” I try to placate, a little nervous myself. I’ve been getting better at flying this past week but I've nowhere near mastered it, and now the Captain wants Mikasa to help me fly higher and faster.

Without so much as a warning, Mikasa starts to channel wind by me, pushing under my wings. Levi nods at me and I ready myself before taking a running start, jumping and pushing off with a strong beat of my wings. Mikasa immediately pushes upwards with her wind and I jolt as I suddenly gain altitude. The added wind allows me to glide while being lifted. I look down, the other’s are getting smaller and I’m suddenly grateful that I’m not afraid of heights. 

Cold air rushes past my skin, raising goosebumps and blowing my hair back. Luckily, my clothes are tight enough that they aren't slapping against my skin but they do little to keep the chill at bay. High enough to safely maneuver, I tilt my wings and swoop down while turning back towards the others. Another gust of wind hits me and I ride it up towards the sky. I can see more of the surrounding area from up here, despite the darkness. We sit in a bowl between plateaus, no other civilization for as far as I can see.

Holding myself vertically and slowing my flying, I hang in the air, my flaps and Mikasa’s occasional gust keeping me afloat. The stars are just starting to peek out from behind the dark curtain of space, and the thin sliver of the moon sits right above the horizon line. 

I eye the fence, far below me. They are certainly putting a lot of trust in me, I could start flying away right now, but then I remember the cold, heavy collar around my neck and the tall watchtowers dotting the perimeter, each with its own sniper. They would shock or shoot me out of the sky the second I made a break for it, which would probably kill me either way. 

I breathe deeply, closing my eyes. For a moment I can just pretend, pretend that I’m somewhere far away from here, that I never have to land again. I only get to enjoy it for a moment, though, because Levi soon summons me back down to earth.

I grunt as I land, stumbling but not falling. Levi looks satisfied with my performance; We had already tested out if Jean could lift me telekinetically but it didn't end well, to say the least. 

“We can continue testing this later,” Levi says, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. “For now, we’ll call it a night.” Levi turns, ducking his head as he lights the cigarette, blowing out a cloud of smoke that the wind carries right back to us. 

Jean coughs, waving his hands in front of his face, grimacing. “He’s such a bitch,” he grumbles.

“He doesn't seem _that_ bad,” I interject. Mikasa scoffs and heads towards where Eren and Armin are chatting while walking back inside, leaving us behind. 

Jean shoots me an unimpressed look as we slowly make our ways back indoors. I have the feeling that neither of us are looking forward to the stale air and harsh lights of the plain corridors. 

Jean sighs, resigned. “Yeah, he's not that bad,” he admits. 

“Certainly better than Hangi,” I add. Jean grunts in agreement, expression darkening. “Oh! I forgot to tell you,” I start, catching Jean’s attention. “He- Captain Levi- said he went to Commander Smith and demanded that Hangi leave me alone for a while, so I don’t have another appointment with her until Monday.”

Jean raises his eyebrows and his lips twitch into a slight smile. “Well, how about that.”

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Apparently, or so Connie tells me, Sundays are usually the ‘funnest’ days of the week, if anything she can actually be considered ‘fun’ here. I missed last Sunday due to Hangi, but Connie tells me that they got to go outside for most of the day.

“Levi goes easier on us on Sundays,” Sasha explains while strapping on her bathing suit. I've quickly found that modesty does not exist in this place.

“Yeah, I think he knows that good morale is important,” Connie adds. “You're lucky that your first Sunday training here is a pool day, we don’t have those very often, and after the laps and shit he usually lets us do whatever we want.”

“Huh,” I eloquently respond, smoothing down the black swim trunks some soldier practically threw at me this morning.

“Come on,” Sasha whines, grabbing my wrist and turning to Jean. “You too, sourpuss.”

Jean glares at her but compiles- after pulling a short-sleeved rash guard over his head and checking himself in the mirror.

Sasha ushers me out of the locker room, followed by Connie and then a reluctant Jean, and into the far side of the training room, where the giant, clear, almost Olympic-sized swimming pool sits undisturbed. The others are lined up already in the same black swimsuits as me, all of the boys, except for Armin and Jean, are shirtless, and the girls have simple one-piece suits. Well, all the girls except for Ymir, who opted for swim trunks and a top. At her side like always, Historia has a different kind of muzzle on, a sort of wire cage that holds her jaw shut but leaves her nose open, the kind you might put on an aggressive dog, presumably because her other one might fill with water and drown her. I wonder why they can’t let her take it off for even a little while. Seriously, how much harm can she do that they have to muzzle her like an animal?

Levi is off a dozen yards away, glaring at the air while listening to whoever is on the other side of his earpiece.

We join the others at the end of the line, Sasha finally letting go of my wrist. We stand there for a few moments (and I feel pretty out of place), until Eren, apparently done with the silence, turns and whispers something to Ymir that I can’t make out. Ymir scoffs, but a smirk starts to emerge on her face. 

“Oh yeah?” She whisper-shouts, suddenly pushing Eren into the water. Eren lets out a cry of surprise as he goes down and Historia yelps (as much as she can yelp with the muzzle over her face) when some of the water droplets splash onto her. Ymir laughs like a hyena, apparently giving up on not attracting Levi’s attention. Predictably, Levi hears and he scowls, marching over while shutting his earpiece off. Connie cackles, shooting a look at Sasha before jumping in as well. At this moment, Eren’s hand emerges from the sloshing water and laches around Ymir’s ankle and she barely has time to push Historia away before she gets pulled into the pool too. Historia giggles as Ymir resurfaces, spluttering and cursing. 

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Levi growls, addressing us as a group. 

“Come on Marco,” Sasha giggles, retreating towards the pool and away from Levi, grabbing my arm and flinging herself into the pool in a belly-flop. I try to fight it, my wings flare as I try _not_ to get pulled in, but it's a useless fight. The last thing I see before I splash into the water is Levi’s angry glare and Jeans’s surprised face. I squawk as I hit the cold water, struggling back to the surface, not used to the wings weighing me down. 

My wet hair hangs over my eyes as I gasp, blinking my eyes clear of the chlorinated pool water. Levi is staring at me, or _us,_ with a deadpan expression on his face. The others who _didn’t_ get rudely thrown into the pool are watching with varying degrees of amusement or, in Bertholdt’s case, worry. I hunch my shoulders with a hangdog look, treading water.

Levi rolls his eyes with a _tsk_ and turns away, addressing the others.

“See?” Sasha suddenly says right into my ear, latching onto my shoulder. Is this girl _trying_ to drown me? “He’s all bark and no bite, nothing to be scared of- and the guards don’t care if Levi doesn't.”

I eye the wall where the handlers are lined up, barely able to see over the sloshing water. Most are either watching with a disinterested look on their face or staring off into space and ignoring us completely, but, as I scan their faces, I _think_ I see a hint of a smile from Bertholdt’s handler, a dark-haired man with a slicked-back undercut.

“Jean, come join us,” Connie caterwauls. “The water’s nice.”

Jean dips a toe in. “It’s fucking cold actually,” he says, but slips in any way, much more gracefully than my flailing. The others are making their way in too, apparently, Levi gave them the go-ahead.

It feels… weird to swim with these wings, I can’t tell if they're a help or a hindrance yet. On one hand, it’s kind of like having a giant extra pair of arms to help paddle, but on the other hand, they collect water and make me feel much heavier. I bring part of my wing out of the water and in front of me and I touch the feathers; they feel slick and the water collects in droplets on them before running off the wings.

“Oh,” Sasha says, bringing a hand up to stroke the feathers, making me jolt a little. It always feels weird when other people touch it. “They're waterproof like a real bird’s.”

“Bird’s wings are waterproof?” I ask, spitting out some water that got in my mouth.

“Yeah, I used to hunt ducks with my Dad when I was a kid,” She explains. “He showed me how water rolls right of the wings because of some kind of oil-”

“Alright nerds,” Connie interrupts, throwing a hand between us to get our attention. “Watch this.” He does this kind of flailing thing, turning halfway upside down and just… floating back to the surface while splashing water into our faces.

“... what was that?” Jean asks, leaning against the pool’s rim to escape the splash-zone.

“A somersault, duh,” Connie says when he finally resurfaces. Sasha snorts.

“I thought you were having a seizure.” Sasha pushes off my shoulder and tackles Connie into the water.

I blink, a little overwhelmed. Jean just sighs.

Muffled screaming and frantic splashing starts to erupt behind us. Alarmed, I look over my shoulder; Ymir apparently decided drowning Eren was the best course of action.

“If you drown him I won't hesitate to send your ass to the Commander,” Levi deadpans, watching the scene with disinterest from a careful five feet from the edge.

Eren splutters to the surface. “I think you're forgetting that I could easily fry you all like sardines right now,” Eren threatens. “Water conducts electricity after all.” Ymir laughs at him but sets him free at the Captain’s glare.

I make my way to the pool wall, already getting tired from treading water. Jean is still hanging by the edge, shoulders dry and leaning on his elbows, only the bottom half of him actually in the water.

“Why is there a pool here anyway?” I ask curiously. It seems like a rather random thing to have.

“There- uh, used to be a water-based Deviant here so… they built this for her,” Jean says, trailing off and staring at the water lapping at his ribs. My lips form a silent ‘O’ as I remember the girl Armin told me about, Isabel I think her name was? I wonder if that’s why he had been acting a little off. 

I opt for silence and I think Jean appreciates that I don’t question him further.

I instead turn to watch the others: Connie and Sasha are messing around, Mikasa is dragging Eren across the pool away from Ymir, followed by Armin. Historia is calmly swimming next to Ymir, who pulls her close and kisses her forehead with the first genuine smile I've seen from her. They're acting like teenagers. Like how they should be. I hadn’t noticed it before but now I realize that this is the first time I’ve actually seen them having _fun,_ and even my spirits are lifted just by watching them. Though I don’t see Bertholdt and Annie, after a second of searching I spot them at the pool’s far corner, sitting on the steps and back turned to us.

I turn back to Jean but I find him looking at me already, well, at my shoulders. More specifically, the thin scars that have yet to disappear. 

Hey,” I start softly. “I’m fine- Honest. I don’t even remember most of it.”

His eyes try to burn holes into the water lapping at his ribs, sinking deeper into it. His gaze darts to the various guards around the room and then back to me. “Yeah… alright.”

“So- uh,” I start, changing the subject. “Why is Historia always muzzled?”

“Because her Deviance is dangerous,” he explains, waving a hand. “She can tell people to do things and they have to listen, kind of like mind control- but not really.”

Huh. I leave it at that. 

I study him for a second. “Come on, get in the pool.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I am.”

“Properly, I mean,” I say, shooting him an unimpressed look that quickly breaks into a smile at his expression of mild annoyance that I know he's faking. 

“Yeah, Don’t be so _boring,”_ Sasha drawls from where she’s perched on Connie’s shoulders at the shallower side of the pool. He glares at her. “Don’t make me come over there,” she threatens, wagging a finger. 

He sighs exaggeratingly and lets go of the wall, dropping down to his neck in the water, wincing at the cold.

“You’d think that with all this money they'd be able to afford a pool-heater.” He grumbles, sinking down to his nose in the water. His eyes dart to something behind me. “Watch out, here come the gremlins.”

At that exact moment, a weight attaches itself to my back, almost pushing me under. I splutter, looking up to see Sasha’s wet hair dangling over my eyes. “Um, hi,” I choke out.

With an evil look, Connie tackles Jean into the water with a splash. 

“You bitch,” Jean gasps as he resurfaces, face turning into his trademark glare when he sees Connie’s cheeky grin. Jean’s hair is much longer when it’s wet and not tucked behind his ear; the now darker brown strands hang almost to his chin in the front. He flips it back, slicking it down from his forehead.

“Come on, let’s go to the shallow end,” Sasha demands, pulling at my hair like she’s trying to steer me. 

“Who are you, the rat from Ratatouille?” I ask, wincing.

Sasha gasps and clutches my hair harder. “I remember that movie!”

“Oh my God, I loved that movie,” Connie says, a wistful expression coming over his face.

“Ratawhat?” 

Sasha rounds on Jean, almost tumbling over my head. “You never saw Ratatouille?” She asks, appalled. Connie clasps a hand over his heart and sighs dramatically at Jean’s lost expression.

“If you haven't noticed, I haven't exactly had the time or-”

“It’s a cinematic _masterpiece,”_ Connie interrupts, smacking a hand over Jean’s mouth.

I’m starting to regret bringing it up. Before they can start ranting about the amazing _screenwriting_ or whatever, I interrupt them- “Yeah, come on, let's go to the shallow end, you're getting heavy Sash,” I say, slowly trying to swim backward. Jean rolls his eyes at the nickname I gave her but Sasha complies with a splash as she hops off my back- after sending an _I’m watching you_ gesture Jean’s way.

“We’re not gonna forget this, Kirstein,” Connie threatens, pointing a finger at him. “No matter _what_ happens you _are_ going to see that movie.”

Jean holds his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, and how, exactly, am I supposed to do that?” He says, gesturing around, needlessly reminding us where we are. 

Connie shrugs. “We’ll figure it out- we always do.” He leans in closer and I can barely hear him. “They can’t keep us here forever.”

“They can, actually,” Jean reminds him but Connie waves him off with a “whatever” _._

Finally free from Sasha, I’m able to make my way to the shallow end with the others. I notice Levi watching us, a cigarette in one hand, and a curl to his lip like a disapproving Dad watching his kids do something particularly disgusting, but I turn away the second we make eye contact. Sadly, said eye contact seems to remind him of what we’re _supposed_ to be doing.

“Alright, enough slacking, seven laps, you know the drill,” He yells flatly, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it into the floor with the heel of his boot. 

Sasha groans and Connie grumbles under his breath, but Jean stays silent as we spread out to give each other space to swim.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The laps were rather torturous and I’m panting by the time I’m done, collapsed on the stairs leading out of the pool. Even though Levi gave me a little leeway on account of my wings slowing me down (they're like a parachute that drags behind me), it was hard work. I wasn’t dead-last, that honor went to Armin, but I was close. Jean was a pro at it though, and he was the first to finish, admirably having enough energy left to rub it in Eren’s face.

“Shit,” Connie breaths out, floating on his back a few feet from me. “That was rough.”

Sasha groans in agreement, appearing almost comatose on the step behind me. 

I sit up with a grunt, turning to face the rest of the pool. Most of the others are floating motionlessly on the surface, and if I didn't know better I might think they're dead. Eren, however, - the one outlier- is swimming in the bottom of the deep end, energetic as ever. I can barely make out his shadow through the ripples. 

I glance towards Jean where he’s holding himself underwater maybe a dozen feet in front of me, occasionally coming up for air. He doesn't seem to be doing anything under there, just kneeling on the pool’s floor, hand gripping the wall to keep himself from floating back up. I watch him for a while, how he seems to stay under for as long as he can before breaking the surface and gasping for air before going back under.

After a few more minutes of this he seems to come back up for good. He’s spacing out, staring at nothing, but he does push his dripping hair out of his eyes. I notice the little droplets of water that have collected on his eyelashes, and I follow one as it drips off and back into the pool. Suddenly, he seems to notice my staring and snaps back to the present.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I say maybe a little too fast, shrugging. I can feel his gaze on me for a moment. “I was just wondering, do you like the water? I mean, you’re a pretty good swimmer.” Good save.

He shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

I eye him, that wasn't exactly the answer I was looking for but I’ll take it if that’s all he's going to give. 

“It's quiet under there, is all.” He mumbles, shrugging again.

We sit there in relative silence for the next ten minutes or so, the others gradually starting up conversations again as they recover. Connie and Sasha have mellowed down significantly, and are now drifting contently in the shallow end of the pool like logs in a river, occasionally bumping into to me.

I stare into the water in between my knees, chewing on my lip. I miss Mina. I wonder how they’re faring, I've been here what, Almost three weeks? I blow air out heavily from my nose. That's both not very long and an eternity at the same time. I survey the room around me, catching sight of Levi pacing across the long end of the pool (once again glaring into his earpiece), the guards stationed in 20-foot intervals around the edges of the room, and the various security cameras dotting the ceiling.

I have to say, I really don’t like being looked at like I’m some creature that crawled out from under a rock. The others are still relaxing in the water but I don’t think I’ve been able to let my guard down like that my entire time here, except maybe on that balcony with Jean. I don’t know, maybe you get used to it- being looked at like you're something less than a crushed cockroach stuck on their shoe sole by everyone around you for every moment of your life- or maybe you don’t but you just learn to block it out. Whatever it is, I’m not at that stage yet.

The only thing that makes this even halfway bearable is the others.

I brush a hand across my (apparently waterproof) shock collar, collecting the droplets clinging to it onto my fingers. I stare at them for a moment, the droplets distorting the swirls of my fingerprints, before dipping my hand back into the pool, releasing them back into the sea of water.

Eventually, after Connie had enticed Jean into a game of “who can hold their breath the longest”, and Eren almost drowned for a second time (totally unrelated), Levi calls us all to get out and we, some more begrudgingly than others, comply. 

“Damn, it's cold out here,” Sasha complains as she steps out of the pool, resembling a wet dog.

“It’s always cold,” Connie retorts, dripping water onto the concrete. 

Water cascades down my wings as I step out, some dripping back into the pool. I shake them out, much like a dog, fluffing the feathers. Jean snorts at the display.

“Hey, watch it,” he warns when I intentionally flick the water towards him, shielding himself with his arms dramatically. 

“Drama Queen,” I mutter.

“What was that?” Jean asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, thought so.” He turns with a scoff, a small smile playing on his lips, leaving me in the dust on the way back to the locker room. 

A smile lingers on my lips and I can’t help but notice the way his wet rash guard sticks to his skin and hugs his thin waist. He’s the slim kind of fit, but I can see the outline of muscle strung across his body.

I watch him for a moment before turning my attention back to the cold, AC infused air with a sigh- at least before I notice Sasha and Connie staring at me.

I furrow my eyebrows. “What?”

They stay silent for a moment and I stare at them. And then Connie decides to pipe up.

“Well, I guess he is a _little_ cute.”

I choke on my own saliva, spluttering.

Sasha fakes a gag, punching Connie in the arm. “Ew, _Jean_?”

“Hey, I'm just calling as I see it,” Connie says, raising his hands in surrender. “Bros can call another bro cute.”

I look between both of them, completely lost. “ _What_?” I repeat.

Sasha throws me a unimpressed look, shooting Connie a look that screams: _Can you believe this guy?_ She pats my arm condescendingly. “It’s okay, I don’t blame you, he _is_ dripping wet after all.”

“That's not-” I start, reeling, but Sasha shushes me. Apparently on a wavelength that I’m not attuned to, they both turn and saunter back to the locker room, not letting me finish my sentence. I stand there in shock for a moment.

… Okay then.

I quickly shower, scrubbing myself with a bar of chemically-smelling soap that just about burns my skin off. I’m still not completely used to the utter lack of _shame_ here, I realize as Connie, wearing nothing but his birthday suit, goes around slapping everyone with a wet towel, darting away too quickly to catch. Luckily, my wings give me some semblance of cover.

After getting dressed, I look at myself in the mirror for what feels like the first time in weeks. I look... rough. My hair (that already needs a cut) lays limp; they don’t provide much in the way of hair-care here. I have dark purple under-eye circles and my skin has lost its warmth due to lack of sunlight. I blink at myself before sighing and turning away.

Back in the bunk room, the rest of the day passes fast. Most of the others are called out at one point or another but, I’m not, so I’m content to read Animal Farm for the second time, having already exhausted Armin’s tiny collection. 

I release a pent-up sigh, realizing I’ve been staring at this page for the past ten minutes. I set the book down, slipping in the little plastic silverware wrapper I’ve been using as my bookmark and leaning against the wall.

A low feeling of dread curls in my stomach. Tomorrow is Monday. Meaning I’ll have another session with Hangi. I unconsciously roll my shoulders, remembering the feeling of getting my skin pulled back. I shudder. 

I sit there, staring at my bedsheets until the buzzer that signals dinner, well, buzzes. 

I snap out of my trance, shaking my head and sliding down the ladder. I’ve been trying to go to the cafeteria more often, even if it still gives me anxiety just thinking about it. 

Armin is kind enough to wait by the door for me, but Jean and Historia stay behind as they always do. 

I can understand why Jean doesn’t like the cafeteria, bright overhead lights hang from the ceiling, bleaching everything a sallow white, and the low drone of voices fill the room. Surprisingly, they let us use the same cafeteria as the other guards and soldiers, and there's usually a few dotting the tables while we’re here. We are restricted to one long table, but it's big enough to give us plenty of space.

I get in line behind Mikasa, receiving today's portion of gruel before joining the rest of the table. I've never been a shy person, but sometimes I feel a little out of place with the others. They have known each other for like, half their lives before I was brought in. 

I notice how the others give Bertholdt and Annie a wide berth from where they sit at the end of the table, so much so that I think they might be at risk of falling right off the bench; even Historia schooches as far away from them as possible without making it obvious that that's what she’s doing. 

I pick at my food, pushing it around the bowl and occasionally choking down a few sips of the smoothie. Diagonally from me, Eren shovels food down his gullet like some ravenous beast and Mikasa has to tell him to slow down lest he choke to death. 

Connie and Sasha are playing balancing games with their plastic utensils, laughing each time their tower ultimately falls. I frown, discreetly studying them. They are by far the most happy-go-lucky people here, and I wonder why that is. It can’t just be because they've been here the shortest amount of time, hell, a few weeks in this place is tough enough. 

I furrow my eyebrows at my food. They must keep things light-hearted as a coping mechanism, I realize, a brief, considering look crossing my face. They must have been trying to cheer me up at the pool today; it’s hard to think about Hangi when there’s a girl crawling all over you, after all- And I do appreciate their efforts, especially since they seem to do the same thing with Jean.

“You good man?”

I’m surprised to find that it was Eren that asked the question, I haven't talked to him all that much yet.

“Yeah, just thinking,” I say with a slight smile.

“Y’know, I don’t get why you hang around Jean so much,” Eren says while scraping his bowl clean.

I’m not sure how to respond to that. “... because I want to?” It comes out more like a question. Armin rests a hand on Eren’s arm but he brushes him off.

“I don’t know, you just seem too nice to be hanging around him.”

Irritation starts to creep into me and my lips pull into a thin line. “He’s really not as bad as you think he is,” I say slowly. _He’s actually really sweet-_ I internally add. The rest of the table has quieted and are now looking between me and Eren. 

Eren opens his mouth to say more, but Mikasa shuts him down quickly, tucking a side of her short bob behind her ear and gripping his shoulder with a hand, sending him a warning look. Eren grumbles but turns back to his bowl. 

“Oh thank Christ,” Ymir blurts. “I was worried we’d have to deal with more testosterone-fueled posturing.”

“Sorry,” Armin says, ignoring her and once again coming to the rescue. “They didn't really start off on the right foot and that still carries over sometimes.” Eren glares at him but the chatter gradually resumes.

I shrug. “It’s alright, s’not your fault.” I’m not going to pretend to know what's happening here, but from what I’ve seen, Jean is nothing but a good person, so I’m not going to stop talking to him because of some back-handed comments. 

At first, I don’t notice the double-doors opening, but when a hush falls over the cafeteria, I look up, seeing Commander Smith stalking through the room, Captain Levi following close at his heels in the middle of a hushed conversation. The Commander said nothing and did nothing, but his presence is felt heavily in the room anyway, even Mikasa's hand clenched minutely around her spoon. 

Within a moment, they leave through one of the many exits without so much as a glance towards any of us and the room releases a collective breath. 

The rest of dinner passes fast, much more subdued than before- at least, before Sasha lets out a tiny noise of excitement. I turn towards her, finding her staring into the kitchen that is barely visible through the cafeteria. I squint, trying to find what she’s looking at; all I can see is a blond-haired man shuffling through some shelves.

Connie smirks, patting her on the back. “Go get em, tiger,” he goads.

Without another word, Sasha abruptly stands and fast-walks across the room, slipping into the kitchen. The man’s face lights up when he spots her and she blushes.

“Ahh, young love,” Connie sighs. Ymir snorts but doesn't say anything. 

I smile, but it quickly fades as I go back to picking at my food, wondering what Hangi is going to put me through tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That pool scene served absolutely no purpose other than pure self-indulgence, I apologize.
> 
> The chapter count is just an estimation for now, it's where my outline ends but that could definitely be subject to change so we'll see (I have a habit of making things much longer than I planned).
> 
> The next chapter will be up soon, in the meantime, comments or kudos are greatly appreciated!


	6. Melted to the sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crystalised by The xx is totally the theme song for this fic, sorry, I don't make the rules.
> 
> *I changed the summary because I wasn't feeling the old one.*

**10:29 am, May 24th, 2022**

**Levi Ackerman**

The pit is deep.

The empty casket rests on thick green straps as it’s slowly lowered, the _crank_ of the lowering devices grating on his ears even from his place in the back of the clergy. One of the woman’s soft sniffles seems obnoxiously loud in the otherwise quiet cemetery. 

He watches the family for any sign of suspicion, but he can see nothing but devastation and resignation. The mother stares blankly at the casket, a child in a black dress clutching tightly to her mother’s skirt. 

He doesn’t get why they chose to go with the whole casket-burial thing- there isn't even a body to put in it, but it's all about the symbolism, he supposes.

He sighs. He hates this part of the job. 

The service is over rather quickly and the crowd of mourners slowly starts to disperse. He’s about to decide the operation a success, already envisioning the depressing conversation he's going to have with Erwin when the mother turns and catches his eye. She stares at him and he pauses, holding her eyes for a moment before turning back down the grassy hill. He thinks she’s going to let him go until the sound of fast footsteps behind him disprove that theory. 

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

He detects a trace of a Mexican accent in her voice. He keeps walking, ignoring her. His eyes are fixed straight ahead of him as she fast-walks beside him, trying to catch his attention.

“Hey! Hey, I’m talking to you-”

He jerks to a stop when she grabs his shoulder, forcefully turning him towards her. He scowls at her and she looks taken aback.

She stands a good few inches taller than him and he can see the resemblance between her and her boy; the same black hair, the same freckles, the same strong jaw. He glances down at the girl at her mother's feet, wide-eyed and confused. Same resemblance.

She must see something in his face because her expression darkens and she turns aggressive, squaring her shoulders and making herself look taller.

“Where is he?” She demands quietly.

He doesn't grace her with an answer, but he does pull a cigarette from his pack of Marlboros in his pocket, tucking it in between his lips. Is it disrespectful to smoke at a funeral? Probably. 

A desperate expression comes over her face.

“Where? Where is he?” She begs. He half expects her to clutch at the lapels of his suit and sink to her knees.

He grabs his lighter from his pocket and shields the flame with his hand as he lights the cigarette. He breathes deeply, getting his much-needed rush of nicotine before puffing out a thick plume of smoke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She growls. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Mami?” The girl grabs at the edge of the mother's dress, looking rightfully alarmed, eyeing him apprehensively. 

Levi simply turns on his heels, taking another puff of his cigarette. 

“You come back here!” she screeches. “What did you do with him?”

“Eli? What's happening?”

He doesn't look back as some of the other mourners restrain her, keeping her from running after him. He almost wishes they’d let her go, let her punch him in the face. He deserves that.

“Where is he?” she sobs, voices of comfort and reassurance fading with her as he gets closer to his car.

He sighs as he finally slips into the passenger seat of the car, tossing his cigarette butt onto the asphalt. 

“Have fun?” 

Unamused, he turns to Nanaba, deadpan. 

She chuckles. “Guess not.”

“Just fucking drive,” Levi sighs, lighting another Marlboro and opening the window, the mother’s cries still ringing around his head.

**3:23 pm, May 24th, 2022**

**Jean Kirstein**

“Is he still not back?

I shake my head, glaring at my clipboard of paper, furiously scratching out another sketch.

Armin sighs, slumping onto the other end of the couch. I stare at the lines of graphite marring my clipboard before tossing it to the side with a huff, the pencil following soon after.

“He’s probably fine, Hangi has kept people overnight before, he’s hardly the first,” Armin says logically.

“But she hasn't skinned one of us before,” I retort. “That was a first.”

Armin sighs in defeat. “Just trying to stay positive…”

I grimace, grinding the heel of my hand against my temple. Why am I such an ass?

“Ya’know, I don’t think I've ever seen Jean so worked up about something,” Eren comments snidely from where he’s hanging his head upside down off of his bunk.

“Piss of, Jaeger.” I don't give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

“No, really,” he continues, refusing to back down. “You missing your shadow or something?”

“You got a problem?” I sit up, glaring at him, anger starting to simmer beneath my skin. 

“Oh no, no problem,” he says, lifting his hands up in mock submission, the smirk fighting against his lips erasing any chance that he was being genuine. 

“Okay, okay,” Armin placates, coming to stand between us. “Eren, stop antagonizing him.”

At first, it looks like Eren is going to back down and I reluctantly settle back down onto my seat, glaring at him.

“Letting Armin fight your battles as always,” Eren mutters under his breath as if it wasn't loud and clear in my ears.

I jerk to my feet. “You have something to say? Or are you too coward to say it to my face?”

He sneers, rising to his feet as well. I have an inch on him yet he still manages to look down on me. “Oh, just noticing how much of a pussy you are.”

“Guys come on, now's not the time,” Armin says, pushing a hand on each of our chests. “You're both just stressed.” I shift back, glowering at Eren’s smug face. I move to turn away, not in the mood to get into a fight right now, when I hear the soft inhale of breath as Eren prepares to speak again.

“Ha,” he barks out a fake laugh. “Backing down, just what I would expect from SURVEY’s pet dog. Don’t want Smith to be mad now do ya?”

My blood boils and I don’t think, suddenly I’m throwing my dignity aside and my fist is connecting with his face. He stumbles, back hitting his bed frame before regaining his footing and charging me. I can barely hear Armin’s cry as Eren punches me, the pain ricocheting around my skull before coming to rest behind my eye socket. 

I kick him, and the next thing I know, my nose is aching and hot blood drips from my nostrils and down my chin, the taste of iron heavily invading my mouth.

I tackle Eren to the floor, kneeing him in the gut. This fight- more of a brawl, really- has no rhythm to it, it’s fury-filled (probably boredom-filled on Eren’s side) and pointless.

“Cut it out guys,” Ymir snaps from somewhere distant. I ignore her.

I sock Eren in the jaw, sending one of his teeth clattering across the room in a trail of blood. 

He grins at me, spitting out a wad of blood and licking his teeth free of the red as I straddle his chest, raising my fist to punch him again.

“The way you trot after Levi makes me sick, we all know you just pretend to hate him, you're like a _loyal_ puppy, following his every order.” He spits out _loyal_ like it was something disgusting, and the lights flicker above us. He suddenly shoves me while sending a jolt of electricity through his hand, unbalancing me and making my arm quiver. He rolls away, regaining his footing at the same time I do.

“You think I like it here? He’s the only reason I’m alive right now, dipshit!” I snarl, taking another swing at him. Before it can connect, I have a split-second to recognize the buzz of the shock collar before electricity courses through my veins and I’m sent withering to the ground.

My muscles tense impossibly tight as excruciating pain courses through my body. My vision goes white and my entire awareness is focused on my neck and the blazing feeling scorching my entire body.

I must have blacked out for a second because suddenly, I’m on the floor staring at Levi’s spotless boots. Eren lays unconscious behind him, a red-tipped tranq dart sticking out of his arm. I have a moment to be jealous that the collars don’t work on him before a foot comes up from the concrete and kicks me in the face. If it weren't before, my nose is definitely broken now.

Strong arms grab me under the shoulders and begin to haul me out of the room. I let out a pathetic little whimper, still dizzy and disoriented, barely able to make out my teammate’s disapproving faces and another soldier throwing Eren over his shoulder before the door swings shut behind me. I watch the floor move under me, eyes half-lidded, as I’m dragged through all-too-familiar turns. 

I snort the blood from nose and I can taste it in my throat as it drips down onto the front of my shirt, joining the red mess already soaking my collar. I forgot that broken noses bleed like a bitch.

Suddenly, it's as if my brain is switched on as I’m brought to a seemingly innocent white hallway and I lurch, sending papers flying off nearby desks and the ceiling lights swinging. One of the soldiers carrying me clocks me on the side of the head, sending my world spinning once again. 

The soldier pulls out a white keycard and my eyes fly open in panic. Awareness returns to me as they scan the card beside the door. “No,” I gasp to myself more than anyone, wrenching my arms out of the soldier's grip before falling flat on the floor, hands scrambling for traction so I can get up and run away, I _need_ to get away-

The soldier grabs me around my middle, lifting me despite my kicking feet and clawing hands. He unceremoniously dumps me onto the floor inside the room.

“No, No!” I shout, desperately trying to get my feet under me, lunging at the closing doorway. I manage to stick my fingers in the crack between the door and the walls, but the soldier just slams it shut, forcing me to jerk my hand back so it doesn't shatter my fingertips. 

I hug my hand to my chest, finally noticing my throbbing eye and exhausted muscles, head turning hysterically to see around the empty room, white lights bleaching my sight and searing my irises. 

“Let me out of here you fuckers!” I kick the door, pain radiating up from my foot as the metal door reverberates back its protests. 

I get no answer- not that I expected one. 

“Aggh!” I snarl to no one, stomping my tingling foot on the floor like a petulant child. 

In a striking moment of inspiration I lift my hand up and flip off the camera I know is in the corner, grimacing against the harsh lighting. The camera stares blankly back at me. 

I sneer disparagingly at myself, wiping my bloody mouth on the shoulder of my shirt, collapsing onto the inch-thin mat sitting against the back wall, suddenly very tired. 

**3:25 pm, May 24th, 2022**

**Marco Bodt**

“Do you need help?”

I shake my head and ease myself off the table, stumbling a little. Dr. Ral comes to help me anyway, putting a hand on my arm, but I shrug her off, turning away. I can imagine the hurt look on her face, but right now I honestly don’t care. 

Shuffling to the sink, I dip my burning arm under the cool water, almost sighing in relief. Whatever they injected me with hurts like hell and I can feel it make its way through my veins and up my arm, leaving my muscles stiff with a sharp burning sensation. I guess this is what happens when she goes easy on me for a few days.

I sense Dr. Ral’s gaze on the back of my neck for a moment before she makes herself busy, shuffling through a filing cabinet and wheeling a tray table with various surgical instruments that I pointedly don’t look at out of the room.

Exhaling heavily, I look around the small room. This is the first time I've been alone for what feels like an eternity. 

I drift around, taking in Hangi’s scratchy notes stuck onto almost every surface. I spot her thick, worn notebook (more of a textbook really, based on its size) laying abandoned on the counter. Eyes darting around the room to triple-check that I’m alone, I hesitantly crack it open, half expecting her to jump around the corner the second I touch it, but the corridor remains silent.

There are tabs labeled with all of our names on them. I open a page at random; it’s under Bertholdt’s section. I skim the almost illegible scrawl but find nothing I didn’t already know, but I do see entries dated all the way back to 2010- a full twelve years ago. A sinking feeling settles in my gut.

I flip through the pages, scanning every-other page before the notebook falls open to a small, glossy, Polaroid-style picture taped into the journal with Scotch Tape.

I squint at it, wrinkling my nose in disgust at what I find. Who the Hell just has a picture like this sitting around in their journal?

It depicts the remains of what I _think_ is a young woman, but the body is so mangled that it’s hard to tell. My stomach flips as I notice that her spine is twisted and jutting out of her back like someone grabbed it and _tugged._ She’s lying at an angle no human being should be able to reach, with her limbs spread out like a marionette puppet. Blood soaks her clothes and the floor around her, and despite myself, I bring the notebook closer to my face to see better. There seems to be a trail of destruction leading to her, and in the corner I can see what looks to be the beginnings of a hand, but has no arm attached to it. At closer examination, I notice she has a shock collar on, just like mine.

I suck in a deep breath, setting the notebook back down, disturbed.

The date scribbled in black pen at the top of the picture reads: _2/18/2015-_ about seven years ago.

I check the tabs again. It’s in Jean’s section. 

I consciously don’t read the other words on the page and I open the journal to my section near the back, deciding to push the picture into the back of my mind. I _really_ don’t need any added stress right now.

There are also pictures taped onto my pages, but these show the many x-rays scans she took and the pictures of my open muscles that I can barely remember being taken. I quickly move past the ones of my wings and back. I shuffle through the rest of the pages, the last hundred or so still blank. On the last used page, however, a few colored sticky-notes are stuck to it. 

A single note catches my eye. _Recreate healing factor???_ Is written boldly on the bright yellow paper, but a single, smaller scribble is what really sends my stomach churning: _Convince them to give 13 to me full time????_

I swallow loudly and slap the notebook shut, making sure I leave it on the table the same way I found it. Hangi having me full time? I can’t even imagine, the only semblance to a break I have here is training with the others, I _can’t_ get that taken away from me.

Suddenly, the squeak of the door opening jolts me out of my thoughts and I jump, facing the door. 

“Sorry,” Dr. Ral says sheepishly. “You can go back to the dorm now, but Dr. Hangi wants you first thing in the morning again. I barely manage a nod, slipping out of the room as quickly as I can.

I start down the hallway, hunching my shoulders, feeling strangely vulnerable. I've traveled this route enough times that I can easily find my way back through the identical halls. I pass a few soldiers who don’t spare me a second glance but I shy away from them anyway. 

I’m stopped in my tracks as Hangi’s muffled but familiar ranting sounds from behind a door labeled OFFICE S14. I know I’m almost certainly being watched through one of the many security cameras, but after a quick glance down both directions of the hall and finding no immediate threat, I still my breathing, trying to hear what’s going inside.

“-coome onn, you have enough for your super-soldier thing, can’t I just have oneeee? And may I remind you that your soldier experiments have been less than successful? You see the state 001 is in.”

“Deviants are rare as I’m sure you know, we can't just hand them out willy-nilly.” I startle when I hear Commander Smith’s deep baritone- is this his office?

“You already have a Deviant that can fly _and_ one that can heal, by all accounts 13 isn't crucial to the team. He would be much more useful in the pursuit of _science.”_

“Do you even know the difference between the scientific process and outright torture?” The Commander asks.

“... Is that a trick question?” 

Commander Smith sighs deeply.

“Hey, you hired me for a reason, right?” Hangi continues.

“You do realize that these are people you're talking about.”

“Yeah, but they’re Deviants-”

“-So am I.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” I can imagine her making some vague gesture with her hand. 

I press a little closer to the door, wondering if they’ve lowered their voices. They’re silent for a moment until Erwin speaks up.

“... I’ll talk to Levi about it.” 

Hangi squeals in excitement.

Abruptly, I realize it probably wouldn't be taken kindly if they find me listening, so I hurry down the hall, barely turning the corner before the door slams open and Hangi’s rapid footsteps disappear in the opposite direction. 

A dark feeling follows me all the way back to the bunk room, and I’m relieved once the doors swing shut behind me. Then the silence hits me. I look at the others confused; they all look antsy and nervous, but Armin brightens a little when he spots me.

“You're back,” he says unnecessarily. “We were worried.” he walks up to meet me in the middle of the room.

“Yeah…” I say distractedly, scanning the other occupants before my eyes land on Armin again. “Where's Jean?”

A grimace contorts his face. “He- uh… He and Eren just got sent to Correction.”

My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “What- why?”

“They got into a fight,” Ymir pipes up when Armin begins to look nervous. “One of em’ started talking smack, the other took the bait like usual, happens like once a month.”

“What- like a real fight?”

“Obviously.”

“When will they be back?”

Ymir shrugs. “Hell if I know, could be a day, could be a week. Just wait till Mikasa gets back, she's gonna flip.”

I sigh to myself, rubbing a hand over my face, overwhelmed. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The next day, I lay silently on the surgical table after getting ‘skin samples’ taken. 

“Dr. Hangi?” 

She turns from her computer, lowering her glass to see me clearly. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you use anesthesia?” I inquire, rolling my head to face her properly. 

“Oh!” She says like she’d already answered this many times- maybe she has. “I don’t want it to mess up the results, obviously. Who knows if you could heal properly while under anesthesia, we don’t want you dying on us after all- but that _would_ make an interesting experiment…” she trails off, chewing on her pen and eyes going distant.

I hope she means the anesthesia part, not the dying part.

Too tired to do more than glare at her for her blatant disregard for me as a person, I go back to staring at the ceiling, holding my throbbing arm to my chest and hissing through my teeth as it smarts. 

The ceiling is made of the same kind of material as all the public schools I've been to, every third rectangle a dimming industrial light, a brown water stain in one corner. It’s nice to know that not everything in this place is white and spotless. Occasionally, Hangi’s brown-haired assistant that I _still_ can’t remember the name of appears in the corner of my eye as he goes around disinfecting virtually every surface in the office. I snort as I realize he is using those yellow Clorox wipes, something about that just seems so _mundane._ He shoots me a confused look but doesn't pause his cleaning. 

Abruptly, Hangi’s frantic clattering on her keyboard stops and I almost jump at the sudden silence. 

“Got it,” she mutters, jumping up and sending her stool rolling across the room, rushing out the door.

“Hangi! Wait,” her assistant exclaims, taking off after her. I stare after them for a moment, perplexed, before turning back to my _very_ interesting study of the ceiling. It’s not like I could try to escape now anyway, I’m sure there are guards stationed in the hall outside- and even then I couldn't leave the others behind. 

Bringing my left arm in front of me, a grimace twists my face as I examine the wound. An almost perfect rectangle was taken out of my forearm. It’s not bleeding anymore (my Deviance took care of that in a few minutes), but the skin is warped and discolored, and there is an obvious dent to it. I can feel my heartbeat in it.

I release a pent-up breath, letting my arm flop back down and onto the soft down feathers of one of my wings, which are hanging off the sides of the stainless steel table.

One of the lights to my right is broken, it flickers _on-off-on-off-on-off-on-off-_

Suddenly, the door to my left slams open and I jolt into a sitting position, heart nearly jumping out of my throat. My wings rattle and my vision going black with a sudden headrush. When I can finally see again, I realize that the person who had entered still hasn't taken more than a step into the room. He stands frozen, one hand still on the doorknob, staring at me like a deer caught in the headlights.

I stiffen, recognizing him as Reiner, the guy from the car. We stare at each other for a moment until he finally speaks.

“Who are you?”

I bink. “Uh… Marco?” It comes out like a question. I can see the realization behind his eyes as he blinks owlishly at me.

“How long have you been here?” He asks, finally stepping into the room properly and closing the door much more gently than he opened it. 

“...About three weeks.” It takes me longer than I would've liked to remember. He looks around, seemingly realizing where we are.

“Shit, this is Hangi’s office, isn't it,” he says, gawking at the various machines dotting the room. His eyes turn back to me, darting to the still-healing gouge in my forearm. He seems to get it immediately. 

“Fuck, man. That's rough.” He winces in sympathy, coming to fiddle with some tool I don't know the name of- all I know is that it looks painful. 

“What- uh, what are you doing here?” I venture, swinging my legs off the table to face him better. He shrugs.

“I dunno, I’m bored. Want some company?”

After a moment I nod slowly, bewildered. “So they just let you wander around?”

“Pfft no,” he scoffs, setting the device down. “They’ll find me soon enough- they keep me down the hall from here,” he adds as an afterthought. I follow him with my eyes as he drifts around the room, eventually seating himself on Hangi’s stool and wheeling himself around.

“So wings and healing huh?” He starts. “Anything else?” I shake my head.

“Damn…” he trails off, pursing his lips. “You really pulled the short stick, didn’t you?”

I look at him, confused about what he means.

“You know,” he continues, waving a hand. “Not a particularly powerful Deviance yet it’s two of the most study-able ones packed in one- which is bad for you.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I hesitantly agree, still on edge.

“Anyway, how are you doing?” his expression immediately contorts into a grimace. “Sorry, that was a stupid thing to ask.” He rubs a hand over his forehead, wincing.

I can’t do anything other than sit here like an idiot, apparently. He’s talking too much for me to really get a feel on his personality. Within a second he snaps back to his rather flippant self, an easy half-smile coming over his face.

“How are Bertholdt and Annie?” he asks, spinning on the stool.

“Uh… good I think? They seem to miss you.” A softer smile comes over his face at that. 

“Yeah…” I have the feeling he’s gotten lost in his thoughts. “Oh!” he suddenly snaps up. “I remember what I was going to do!” He stands, almost tipping the stool over, turning to me. “Wanna come?”

Raising my eyebrows, I shrink into myself. “I don’t think I should be going anywhere...”

“Come on, they’ll be focused on me, they've been looking for me for like half an hour, the worst you’ll get is a slap on the wrist.”

I look at him disbelievingly for a moment before pausing to have a much needed internal debate. On one hand, the last thing I want to do is put attention on myself but… they _did_ leave me here unattended and no one _explicitly_ told me I couldn’t leave, besides, I’m still a little worried about whatever Hangi wanted to retrieve, and if it’s anything involving me, I really don’t want to be here when she gets back, I've had enough torture for today, thanks. 

I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment, asking myself why I’m agreeing to this. “Alright.”

He grins, tilting his head towards the door. “Come on then.”

I follow him out of the room, nervously rubbing my hand over my aching arm, eyes darting to find the inevitable tac-vested guards but surprisingly seeing none.

God, I’m thirsty. 

“Where are we going, exactly?” I ask, speeding up to walk at his side, a step behind him.

“Well, I saw Kirstein get dragged to solitary confinement yesterday, so I figured I’d check up on him.”

I splutter, deciding to ignore the way I perk up at the mention of his name, turning to look at Reiner incredulously. “What do you mean _check up on him?_ You can do that?”

He shrugs, rolling his tongue over his teeth, whipping out a lanyard with a keycard attached to the end of it and spinning it around his fingers before catching it out of the air. “I've got this.”

“But you can’t like, get him out, right?” I ask, squishing down any hope that arises.

“Well, I _could,”_ Reiner admits. “But once they catch us they’d just stick him in there for double the time, so that wouldn’t really be helping him- no harm in saying hi though. I’m the one they’ll punish.”

Before I can question him further and make sure Jean won’t actually get in trouble and inquire as to _why_ he brushes off getting punished like that and _how_ he’s managed to evade the entire population of the base for a whole thirty minutes, Reiner pauses outside of a seemingly inconspicuous door, scanning the keycard on a futuristic scanner to the right of the door, a dull _click_ signaling that it unlocked. Reiner tucks the white plastic back into his pocket, pulling the door open and I stand on my toes to peek over his broad shoulder.

“Hey Jean,” he greets like this is perfectly normal. Jean, who is sitting curled up on the floor outside of the door, turns incredulously, shielding his eyes with his hands. 

“Reiner?” he rasps, and I think I see a flash of fear in his face, but he studies Reiner's face for a moment and, seemingly finding what he’s looking for, brightens. “Reiner! What’s up man,” He almost slurs, letting Reiner pull him unsteadily to his feet. “How long have you been running?” 

“Half an hour,” Reiner boasts, puffing out his chest. Jean whistles slowly. I cock my head as I watch the exchange, utterly bewildered. Jean seems pretty peppy for someone who's been locked in a tiny room for a day- and for someone who is covered in blood, I notice, eyes widening.

“That must be a new record,” Jean says, eyes drifting to me and he seems to notice me for the first time, his eyebrows curving up.

“Marco? What are you doing here?”

Oh- I was under the impression that I’d been forgotten. I shrug in a non-committal sort of way, a little preoccupied noticing how _bad_ Jean looks. My eyes take in the smears of blood across his face that look like they had been hastily wiped away and the red staining the front of his shirt. He obviously hadn't slept much last night; his eyes are tinged pink. He's got a nasty black eye and his nose is purple and sitting _crooked,_ but he smiles tiredly nonetheless. He turns to Reiner.

“Did you drag him here? Or am I hallucinating?” 

Reiner bites his cheek and grins, not batting an eye at his appearance. “I ran into him on the way.”

“What happened to your face?” I ask eloquently, internally wincing, remembering that I already know the answer.

“Eren thought it brought out my eyes,” Jean shrugs, gesturing to his black eye, scrunching his nose but obviously thinking better of it with a cringe. I step back as he peeks his head out of the doorway and looks down the hall.

“As much as I appreciate the break, you guys probably wanna scram before you’re noticed.”

As if they were waiting for this exact moment, heavy footsteps sound from down the hall and a moment later a few guards appear.

Reiner sighs. “See ya later.” Jean nods and I think I see his expression fall slightly, but he raises his hand to his forehead in a mock army salute, sending him off. Reiner laughs and closes the heavy door, the sound reverberating through the walls, but I eye the approaching soldiers, tensing as two grab Reiner by the arms, manhandling him away. The third one kicks Jean’s door loudly before poking me in the back with his gun and I arch away from it, not wanting the gun touching me, catching Reiner’s small, proud smirk of farewell before I’m ushered down the hall in the opposite direction.

Despite the fact that I’m literally being held at gunpoint and my arm is still itching as it heals, I can’t help but feel a little better knowing that Jean isn’t being actively tortured right now- even if solitary confinement is technically torture by itself. Though it _was_ very bright there, I realize. Even I couldn’t look straight into the light without it hurting my eyes. My lips turn down as I realize that it must be much worse for Jean and my disgust towards SURVEY grows stronger if that's even possible. 

The soldier leads me back down to Hangi’s office, jabbing me with his gun whenever I go too slowly for his liking. Hangi quirks a brow when I enter, surprisingly looking more amused than angry.

“You go on an adventure?” She asks, not giving me time to answer before she waves off the soldier and pulls out a pile of papers, looking jittery in an excited way. 

“Anyway, you're going to be with me all day now!”

My stomach drops. “W-what?” I already know what she’s talking about. 

“Levi gave me permission! _Reluctantly at that_ , but permission is permission!” She mutters the middle part under her breath, yet doesn't look ashamed. I stare at her, unable to form coherent words. 

She must read my expression as confusion. “Don’t worry, he made me agree to let you still sleep in the dorm with the others,” she says, rolling across the room on her stool, lab coat trailing after her like a cape. “But instead of training with them during the day, you'll be in here for experiments with me!”

“O-oh.”

“You can go back to your dorm now, we’re done for the day,” she dismisses, already turning away from me and back to her papers. Her assistant pointedly avoids my eyes as I slowly walk out, head reeling. I don’t remember the walk back to the bunk room; one second I’m in Hangi’s office, the next I’m pushing open the door, coming face to face with the others- well, half of them at least, the rest are out with their handlers. 

Connie raises a brow. “You good man?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, just need a moment,” I lie, rushing past him and into the bathroom, not caring that I definitely don’t _look_ fine. 

I close myself into the farthest stall from the door, barely able to squeeze in there with my wings taking up most of the space. I press my forehead against the grungy stall wall, eyes growing watery and breath turning panicky. _Fuck._ I sink to my knees, thankful that this is the type of bathroom where the stalls reach all the way to the floor- the last thing I need is for someone to walk in and see me crying on the bathroom floor.

I- I just can’t be stuck with Hangi all day. Her experiments have already given me nightmares enough, now that I’m her own personal test subject? I can’t imagine what she is going to do now that she doesn't have to worry about pissing off Levi. And why the hell did Levi agree to this?

I sit back, holding my head in my hands and pinching the bridge of my nose, letting out a shuddering sigh. I just want to go _home_. I miss Mamá and Mina, I miss my friends at school. God, I would have been graduating in a few weeks.

A light hand raps on the door and I startle. “Can I come in?” Armin’s voice asks meekly.

I look down at myself, I have the feeling I look kind of pathetic. “Uh sure,” I say anyway, my voice sounding worse than I expect it to. The stall door is gently opened outwards and Armin lowers himself to my level, sitting criss-cross on the tile. I wipe my wet eyes, embarrassed. 

Armin the therapist, swooping to the rescue once again. 

We sit in silence for a moment, but I keep glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, pulling my wings tight around myself with a ruffle of feathers.

“Have you been to the beach before?” he asks abruptly.

I blink. “Yeah, all the time I- uh, lived half an hour away from it,” I sniff, confused on why he’s bringing it up. 

“East or West?”

It takes me a moment to understand what he means. “West, Southern California- near San Diego.”

He nods, but he squints to himself, tilting his head. “Where’s San Diego again?”

“Oh- sorry, it's near the Mexican border.”

He nods again. “I don’t really know anything about the outside world except for what I remember from when I was a kid,” he explains like it's no big deal.

I bite my lip. That must be horrible.

He sighs and stares at his feet for a moment. “I've always wanted to go to the beach, I think I went there once when I was a kid but I can’t quite remember.” 

“Out of everything, why the beach?” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know, I think I just got attached to the idea long ago and never let go of it.” It looks like he’s about to stop talking, but suddenly he stiffens, a look of dawning realization coming over his face.

“You said you lived in Southern California?” I confirm with a confused nod. He squints thoughtfully at nothing in particular. 

“We had already decided that we’re in America a long time ago thanks to Levi’s brand of cigarettes he always smokes, but Jean said that the drive to pick you up took about six hours, give or take, so that means…” He pauses for a moment and I can practically see the gears turning in his head. “We have to be either in Arizona, Nevada, or Northern California- I don’t think they’d take us over to Mexico- and based on the limited geography we can see, Arizona or Nevada is our best bet,” he explains quietly, voice barely louder than a breath yet dripping with excitement. “We’ve had absolutely no idea where in the country we were this whole time, most of us were put on planes so you can’t really judge the distance accurately, but in a car…”

Broken out of my stupor, his excitement rubs off onto me. “So-”

He shushes me, putting a finger to his lips and gesturing to his ear. Right. Ears everywhere. I lower my voice to barely a whisper. “So we have an idea of where we are then?” He nods. “... but it doesn't really help us,” I sigh, excitement dying. 

“...But it’s something,” He says, eyes still hopeful.

“But it's something,” I agree.

**9:48 pm, May 25, 2022**

**Jean Kirstein**

_Tap tap tap._

I’ve been tapping my fingers against the concrete for so long that my nails are getting sore. Each click of my nails sounds like a small shot going off in the otherwise silent room.

 _Fuck_ , I’m bored.

I roll onto my back and throw my elbow over my eyes, carefully avoiding the bruise, my spine sighing in relief when it's finally able to straighten. Bad posture will do that to a man. 

I’m just happy they gave me a change of clothes so I could get out of my blood-tacked shirt- though some wet-wipes would've been nice.

In all my years of being put in correction, I’ve found that there are three stages I go through. Stage one is anger. Stage two is feeling fidgety and dangerously bored. Stage three is just an overall feeling of _shittyness_ and exhaustion. 

Currently, I’m resting at the ass-end of stage two, and I’m fucking over this. I don't know how long ago it was that Reiner busted in with Marco in tail, it could have been yesterday, could have been the day before, it doesn't really matter. It wasn't the first time Reiner had done that, third actually, so it makes sense that the guards were looking for him there. I still don’t get how he’s so good at evading the cameras though.

I sigh, laying there for who knows how long, hours at a minimum, trying to block out the lights shining down on me, until the door opens with a scrape against the concrete. 

This time, I don't bother opening my eyes; they’ll either drag me out or they won't.

“You want outta here or not?”

I jerk upwards, taking my arm off of my eyes and wincing when my vision is bleached for a moment. White dots dance before my eyes but I can see Levi staring down on me with his usual deadpan expression. 

I scramble to my feet, swaying a little, and a tiny voice that sounds suspiciously like Eren mocks me in the back of my head for how I jumped up at his call, but I decide to punch him in his metaphysical face.

Levi raises an eyebrow at me, tucking his keycard back into his shirt. He shuts the door behind me with a dull slam as I leave, the noise grating painfully against my ears that are now so used to silence. 

Levi takes off down the corridor and I follow a respectful step behind him, trying to work up the courage to ask why he personally came to let me out, but he beats me to it.

“I figured I’d tell you now so you don’t flip your shit later, but 013 isn’t going to be training with us anymore.”

I stiffen, stopping in my tracks. “... Why not?”

“Hangi gets him full-time now,” Levi responds flatly, stopping but not looking back at me. 

I furrow my eyebrow, not understanding for a moment- until I do. “And you _allowed_ that?”

“I didn't have much choice,” he says sharply, finally looking at me. “There was no good argument that he was more valuable to me than to Hangi.”

“But you're the Captain,” I start, growing angry. “You could stop them. You could-”

“Dammit, Jean,” he hisses as he turns on me and I reel back, blinking at the use of my real name and the show of emotion. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not the highest-ranking person here. Just because I'm your handler and the team’s overseer doesn't mean I get much of a say in what happens to you all.” He steps forward and, despite myself, I back up. “ _You_ were the exception, if it weren't for me you’d be dead in a ditch somewhere so don't act like I don't care,” he growls, voice growing colder with each word. “Especially after what you did.”

His last words take the breath out of me as efficiently as if he punched me in the gut. Emotions flash through me; betrayal, sadness, guilt, and finally settling on anger. Pure, seething red-hot _anger._

“How _dare_ you blame me-”

“Blame _you_?” he scoffs, raising his voice. The expression on his face shows that even he knows it was a low blow, but he doesn't take it back. “Who else is there to blame?”

“None of that would have happened if you guys didn’t fucking kidnap me!”

“It would've!” he snarls and I back up against the wall as he shoves a finger to my chest. “Don’t you understand that? But instead of it happening here it would have happened out there and there’d be civilians dead.”

I bite the inside of my cheeks, hot tears beginning to blur my vision as I look down on him. I can’t respond to that.

He takes the finger of my chest and steps back, turning away from me and running a hand through his hair, nostrils flaring. After a moment spent staring at him I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, continuing to glare at him. 

“Go,” he says tersely.

I go.

I avoid the other’s eyes as I burst into the bunkroom and anger surges within me. I kick the closest object to me as hard as I can, which happens to be the leg of my bunk. A sharp pain shoots up from one of my toes, but now that I've started, I can't stop.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ymir shouts but I block her out, slamming my fist into the steel bed frame, bloodying my knuckles and breaking something in my hand with a wet _crack_.

“Jean,” Armin tries to interrupt, but he stays a safe ten feet away from me. I don’t acknowledge him, but I do throw my clipboard from my bed onto the opposite wall, which falls with an unsatisfying clatter.

I wrap my hands around the bed frame as best I can with my mangled fingers and it bends with an ear-splitting screech of metal. The ceiling light above me breaks with a shatter of glass, sending clear shards falling onto me but if it hurts, I don’t feel it. I stand there, panting, focusing on the steel which had been twisted as if it was nothing more than melted butter, before I hear a soft voice behind me.

“Jean?”

I turn- it's Marco. I hadn't realized he was back. 

I collapse into the pool of glass, setting my bleeding hands on the ground despite the shards, clenching my teeth so hard I fear they might crack. I didn’t mean to do that.

As the adrenaline wears off, the throbbing in my hand comes back for vengeance twice as strong as before, and sweat beads on the back of my neck.

The door slams open, bouncing against the wall as two soldiers shove their way inside, making a beeline for me. I tense, clenching my eyes shut, preparing to get dragged back into correction, but the hands don’t come. 

I crack open an eye to see Levi standing in the doorway, the bright hallway lights silhouetting him from behind. I distantly hear him order the soldiers to leave me alone and his shadow disappears from the doorway without another word. 

After a moment of forced silence, Marco comes to kneel beside me, glass crunching beneath his shoes. He hesitates, lifting his hands slightly, before gently grabbing my right hand in his, turning it over so he can see my palms. There's glass embedded in them. I hadn't noticed.

I let him pull me to my feet and he leads me to sit on the glass-free couch. 

Now that awareness has returned to me, shame immediately floods me and I frown at my shoes, avoiding looking at anyone. That was fucking embarrassing. 

Marco carefully plucks the glass shards from my palm, my own blood coating his fingers. I don’t wince even as he has to tug and twist the glass to get it out without tearing my skin further, but the sharp pain makes my fingers twitch involuntarily. 

“Two of your fingers are broken.”

My eyes dart to his face but he’s still looking at my bruised hand, an unreadable expression on his face, frown lines contorting his freckles.

I don’t respond because I don’t think I need to. The silence in the room weighs on me. I glance at the others without lifting my head. Armin is softly apologizing to a straight-faced custodian who is sweeping the glass into a dustpan, and the others are either looking at me or down at their own hands; the tension in the air is palpable. 

I go back to glaring holes into the space between my feet.

The only saving grace is that Jaeger’s not back yet, I don’t think I could take whatever snarky remark he’d probably throw my way about now. 

As Marco plucks another shard out of my hand I run my other hand through my hair, sending more glass clinking against the ground. Oops.

Marco sighs as he takes out the last bloodied shard, turning his head back towards the others.

“Armin, can you heal his-”

“No,” I say quickly, pulling my hand back from his and holding it against my chest. Marco looks at me, confused. “No… I don’t want it healed.”

“Jean,” Armin starts, approaching me like one would a wounded animal. “We need to set your fingers so they heal right- and reset your nose at that.”

Right, my nose. I must be a real looker right now.

“No, it's fine, Armin. I’ll let it heal on its own,” I say flatly, a little petulantly, turning away slightly. 

" _Jean_.”

I startle at Marco’s voice- he sounds angry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him angry before. 

He grabs my wounded arm and pulls it towards himself. “Don’t be stupid. You don’t get to just hurt yourself then brush it off as a punishment.” 

I look at him with wide eyes, surprised.

“It’s a burden for us too, y’know. If you can’t use your dominant hand you can’t do much- and I doubt that's taken kindly here. Just- Let Armin heal you, please,” he says, the edge taken off his voice.

I furrow my eyebrows, watching him as Armin takes my arm, but I don’t fight him this time.

I deflate, eyes darting from Marco’s conflicted face to his feet. Armin warns me about the pain before he binds my two fingers together with medical tape but I’m too busy staring at Marco’s shoes to acknowledge him, not having the courage to look either of them in the eyes.

The familiar warm tingling sensation buzzes in my hand as Armin heals me, and I can practically feel it as my bones seal themselves back together, only a dull twinge of pain left. I watch with glazed eyes as the cuts on my palm shrink and disappear. 

Armin huffs out a breath, wiping the back of his hand against his forehead.

“If it's too much-” I start but Armin shakes his head.

“It’s fine, I've fixed worse.” I can’t help but glance at Marco but he isn’t looking at me, instead, he seems silently engrossed in the way my cuts healed. I can’t blame him, it is pretty cool to see.

“Alright,” Armin starts, coming to sit on the couch beside me, keeping his legs tucked under him. He gestures for me to face him and I do, sitting criss-cross to keep out of his way. Marco shifts with us, still crouching next to me.

My eyes dart towards the others and they quickly make themselves look busy. Well, everyone except for Annie- who has been ignoring me this entire time. Hey, props to her for not letting my breakdown interrupt her reading.

I’m not looking forward to this next part.

“I need to reset your nose, it's been a couple days since it was broken so it's probably going to hurt a lot,” Armin says bluntly, bringing both of his hands on either side of my face.

I swallow, flinching when he touches the cartilage bump on the side of my nose with his thumb but I nod in permission anyway.

“Do you need something to hold onto?” Armin asks.

I grunt out a ‘no’, but as Armin lines up his thumbs Marco slips his hand into mine.

Before I can even register that wow, I’m holding hands with Marco, an excruciating pressure ignites behind my eyes and my vision whites out. 

_“Ffffffuck!_ Goddammit!”

I clench his hand in a death grip, biting my lip to avoid spewing out a string of curses that would certainly make any mother cry. I screw my eyes shut but a few tears escape anyway.

Kicking a foot against the couch, I try not to twist away as Armin makes sure my nose is straight, instead holding onto Marco’s hand tighter and gripping the cushion of the couch in my other hand.

The pain leaves as sharply as it arrived, finally letting me breathe, leaving behind a dull throbbing that I can feel in my skull.

I clear my throat, blushing when I realize that I’m still clutching Marco’s hand like a lifeline. I quickly let go, wiping the tears off my cheeks, embarrassed.

“You okay?” he asks. He doesn't look mad that probably crushed all the bones in his hand.

“Y-yeah.” I cough, clearing my throat again. “These aren't because they hurt,” I say, gesturing weakly towards my drying tears. “It's just- y’know, they’re watering cause’ my nose is right next to them.”

He eyes me unbelievingly but lets it go.

It seems that my suffering has unwound the tight atmosphere to a bearable level because the others have started up quiet conversations or are going back to what they were doing before I busted in.

I touch my nose hesitantly; it hurts like a deep bruise but nothing more, so I take that as a good sign.

“Let me fix it all the way,” Armin insists, using his hand to turn my face back towards him.

I almost object, but the expression on Marco’s face makes me bite my tongue and let Armin do his thing. The tingling sensation spreads across my face and I can suddenly breathe through my nose again. I sniff as a test; it doesn't hurt, and the black eye seems to be gone, too.

“Thanks,” I mutter, and Armin hums in response, swinging his legs off the couch and coming to stand.

I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, eyes drifting down to Marco. “Thanks,” I repeat to him, quieter.

He shrugs in a ‘no biggie’ sort of way, but avoids my eyes. “Don’t mention it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean: *does literally anything*.  
> Ymir *in the background*: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!
> 
> Not super happy with the pace of this chapter, but I think it's necessary to move the plot along- we'll be getting to the real meat of the story soon.


	7. When push comes to shove

**12:01 am, July 21th, 2022**

**Elisa Bodt**

“Good morning Elisa,” Daniel greets at the front desk.

“Good morning,” she humors as she checks in, signing her name on the given clipboard. “Busy day?”

Daniel, one of the on-call surgeons that day blows air out of his nose. “I’ll say. Had a nasty car crash down on the 8- had to remove a ruptured spleen from the driver. All went smoothly though.”

“Good.” She grabs the file he hands her, opening it and studying the contents.

“Ovarian tumor, removal scheduled for 3:30 today,” Daniel supplies helpfully. “Not for you but you’ll need to check up on her during your rounds.” She nods.

Suddenly, a rush of hot air drafts through the lobby as someone walks through the automatic door, warming the cold room.

“Jesus, why is it so hot? It's midnight,” he complains, grabbing the clipboard to sign himself out. 

“Monsoon winds,” she explains, smoothing down her scrubs. She doesn’t turn to look, her car is parked out there and she doesn't want to accidentally see it through the windows. If she could afford it, she’d buy a new one and scrap the thing, but she can't so she's stuck with it now that she can’t use her sister’s anymore.

Daniel grumbles light-heartedly, setting the clipboard down. 

“Goodnight,” he says as he does at the end of all of his shifts. He thinks he’s hilarious. Elisa raises a hand in goodbye, flipping through the file to the other patients before pushing open the swinging doors leading further into the hospital, hoping to catch a cup of coffee before doing her rounds. 

On her way down the hall to the break room, she sees one of her past patients in the hall, making his way with crutches, mother walking beside him, ready to catch him if he stumbles. 

“Dr. Bodt!” he greets, taking a hand off of his crutch to wave.

“Thomas! I see you're getting let out today.”

“Yep,” he says, puffing his chest out. “What can I say? Fit as a fiddle.” He wiggles the stump where his leg was only a week ago for effect. “They say I’ll be ready for a prosthetic in a few months.”

“That great news,” Elisa says. She means it too. She’d been present for the amputation for his leg but had not performed it (She's yet to perform an amputation due to lack of specialized training). She likes the boy, he… reminds her of Marco a little. All optimism and kindness. 

She tears herself forcibly out of her thoughts, smiling weakly but genuinely as she says goodbye, assuring his mother that he’ll be just fine. Once they’re out of sight she sighs deeply, closing her eyes before continuing down the hall.

While waiting for the machine to pour her the somehow bitter yet tasteless 80% water coffee into her disposable cup, a vaguely familiar woman dressed in a paramedic uniform trudges in, making a beeline for the coffee machine. They get a lot of people from the ER over here as they have the only working coffee machine, if you can even call it that. 

Elisa sees the sweat on her face as the woman downs her coffee in one swallow and she looks at her questionably. Elisa doesn't mind being the person people talk to when their jobs get hard, in fact, she likes that she can help them, even a little. Even if she doesn't know them.

“Suicide attempt,” the woman says, answering the silent question. “Kid is getting his stomach pumped now but they think he’ll be alright.”

Elisa freezes, staring down at the floor, clenching her coffee cup in her hand with a little too much force.

“Oh shit-” The woman realizes. “I’m so sorry, I didn't mean-”

“No, no. It’s fine, really,” Elisa says, shaking her head, taking a swig of her coffee to hide her trembling hands. Apparently the whole hospital knows about her situation, even a paramedic she's probably only passed in the halls a few times. She tries not to get angry at the thought.

By the time she came back to work almost two months ago word had spread like wildfire. Her first day back all she got were pitying looks and soft condolences she didn't want. Then they avoided her like the plague, probably not sure how to act around her. It’s only recently that people have started approaching her again, apparently deciding that she's not going to bite them or break down crying or whatever it was that they expected she’d do.

She doesn't believe he’s dead anyway. Not after there was no trace of a body found. Not after seeing that man at his funeral. But she doesn't voice it. Her sister already thinks she’s crazy, the last thing she needs is to get fired due to _psychological stress._

The woman eyes her warily but purses her lip, nodding.

Elisa sighs, leaning against the cabinet behind her. This is going to be a long shift.

**11:38 pm, July 21th, 2022**

**Jean Kirstein**

To be fair, this isn’t the first time I’ve been useless in emotional situations.

Or the second. Or the fifth.

But as I look over at a trembling Marco, I realize that I have to do _something._

The months after the fight with Eren passed largely the same, except for one factor: Marco. Things had been awkward between us for a few weeks after my fight, but no doubt thanks to Hangi, he’s been increasingly jumpy and much more reserved, and I realized that I was being selfish. It would be a lie to say I don’t miss him in training.

What tests Hangi could still have to run, I have no idea, but whatever they are, they’re certainly fucking him up. He still talks to me, sure, but now _I_ have to initiate most of the conversations and he doesn’t really talk to anyone that’s not me, Armin, Sasha, or Connie, and surprisingly, Reiner.

I stare at a piece of dust floating lazily through the air.

He sniffs. “It’s gonna rain soon.”

I tilt my head at the non-sequitur. “How do you know?” The desert seems as dry as it always does.

He shrugs. “Just a hunch.”

I blink, watching him.

“I’m fine,” he assures before I even have the chance to say anything. 

He certainly doesn’t look fine from where I’m sitting; he has his knees drawn up to his chest, hugging his legs with shaking hands, and his wings are splayed awkwardly on the ground behind him, but he still manages a small, strained smile back at me.

I have to refrain from frowning back at him.

“You’re not,” I say bluntly.

His obviously fake smile falls off his face and he sighs, turning back to the stars, expression unreadable.

I shiver against the cold desert wind, the fine sheet of sand and dust gritting under my shoes as I shift, continuing to look at him. The colorful night sky stretches above the balcony, but I ignore it.

I don’t know what to say. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I aim my fist towards Levi’s face, throwing all of my weight behind it. I know it was clumsy and, as expected, he dodges it effortlessly and strikes me in the back, causing me to stumble forwards.

I immediately spin, snarling as my foot collides heavily with his stomach and he grunts, winded, but before I can right myself, he grabs my ankle and yanks me off my feet.

My teeth rattle as I hit the mat. I blow out a breath and lean my head on the mat, giving up. Out of the corner of my eye I see Levi come to stand over me, offering me his hand.

Scowling, I ignore the hand and push myself up. He shoots me an unimpressed look but doesn’t comment.

I sniff, squinting against the lights and wiping the sweat from my brow and heading for the door, taking that as a dismissal.

“You’re acting like a pissy brat, you know,” he says flatly.

I stop, one hand on the door handle. “I know.”

He snorts mirthlessly. “You know I can’t do anything, then.”

I turn to glare at him, biting my cheek so I don’t lash out. “Who says this has anything to do with that?”

He blinks slowly, looking up towards the ceiling with a _so help me God_ sort of look. Sighing, he walks over to his pack that's sitting in the corner of the room that I somehow didn't notice until then. That would have been nice to chuck at his face.

He fishes around for a moment and I watch quizzically as he pulls out a small Manila folder. He flips through it before slapping it onto my chest.

“Do with this what you will. Don’t open it in front of any cameras and for God’s sake don’t let anyone see.”

I furrow my eyebrows as he leaves, slinging his pack over his shoulder, leaving me standing alone in my confusion.

I know for a fact that this is one of the few places in the facility without cameras or microphones, but I check anyway, eyes darting to every corner of the room, coming up empty.

I hesitantly crack the folder open, frowning at it. My eyes widen when I see the first paper.

_Oh._

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

 _“Armin,”_ I hiss when I finally get back to the bunks, speed-walking past him and to the men’s room. He looks up, confused, but whatever he sees on my face makes him jump to his feet and follow me.

In the corner of the bathroom, out of sight of any doorway, I pull the folder out from under my shirt, kneeling and spreading the papers out on the floor. 

Armin’s approaching footsteps slow as he reads the papers.

“Where’d you get this?” he breaths, eyeing me incredulously.

“Levi,” I whisper, conscious of the microphones. I shuffle through the papers; a full layout of the facility, the guard’s rotation schedule, the passwords for every locked exit, where the kennel for the attack dogs is, the location of every hummer and humvee- there's even a _helicopter_ I didn’t know about on the roof. 

Armin slowly lowers himself to his knees, gaping at the papers, lifting a map of the surrounding area and bringing it close to study it.

“What the hell are you two doing in there?” Ymir’s voice rings out from the doorway. “Comparing dick sizes?” 

_Shit._

“Something like that,” I retort, rushing to the doorway to pull Ymir, and in turn, Historia, into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind them. Hopefully no one saw that. 

“Woah, I was just kidding, I don’t actually want to see tha-”

“Shut up,” I hiss through clenched teeth, dragging her by the arm to where the papers are spread out across the floor. Armin doesn't look up as we approach, still engrossed in the map. 

I see Historia’s eyes widen and she says something that becomes muffled beyond recognition behind her muzzle. 

Ymir slowly bends down to pick up the sheet showing the layout of the facility, lips partially open as she studies it. She snaps her head towards me. “Where’d you get this?”

“Levi,” I answer again, already tired of the question.

Armin gasps and unfolds a big, colored map of the US. I squint, looking over his shoulder. He lays it flat on the ground and points to a dot in the top right-ish area of Arizona scribbled in red sharpie. “That’s where we are!” he stage-whispers, almost vibrating in excitement. 

I lean over, trying to see it clearly. The dot is in a deserted area somewhere below whatever _Black Mesa_ is, to the northeast of a big city called Phoenix. I scratch my head; now I feel kind of stupid being eighteen and not knowing jack shit about geography- not that I’ve had a chance to learn. 

Ymir’s eyebrows raise so high I fear they’re going to fly off her forehead. “Shit man, we gotta show the others,” she makes as if to leave, but I grab her shoulder before she can.

“We have to be careful about this, we can’t show everyone immediately- I wouldn't put it past Connie or Sasha to accidentally blurt something out- and we especially can’t tell Reiner, who knows how long he’ll be in a good mood, he might run off and tell Smith at some point.” Reiner had been allowed to re-join the team the week before, but I’m not convinced he won’t snap again.

She nods in reluctant understanding, running a hand through her hair and turning away for a moment. “So what do we do then?”

“For right now, nothing,” Armin decides, voice no more than a whisper. “We need to figure out a course of action if we’re going to use this to... escape.” He takes one last, long look at the map before stacking the papers up neatly, a pinched look coming over his face. “Where are we going to hide these?”

Shit, didn’t think about that. I have no idea.

It doesn't look like Ymir or Historia know, either. Armin’s eyes slowly scan the room before falling on one of the stalls. 

“Does anyone have a ziplock bag?” he asks, turning to look at us.

“Uh…” I say, racking my brain to remember. “Yeah, I do, actually” I slip out of the bathroom, ignoring the other’s curious looks, climbing onto my bunk and taking out the plastic bag I shoved between my bed and the wall- the one that they gave me my pencils and sketchpad in. 

I don’t have any pockets so I shove it down my pants to stop the cameras from seeing it, hoping that they don’t wonder why the four of us, including two girls, are hanging out in the men’s room as there are no cameras in the bathroom. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, I guess.

I hand Armin the bag, wondering why he needs it. He sets the folder inside and closes it tightly, double-checking to see that it’s properly sealed. 

“What are you doing with it?” Ymir asks as Armin walks to the second-to-last stall and opens it. He lifts the lid off of the tank on the top of the toilet and slips the bag under the water, stuffing it between the pipe and the wall.

I wrinkle my nose. “Ew.”

“The water in the tank is perfectly clean, actually, so don’t worry.” He says as he sets the lid back on. “It’s even safe to drink.”

Oh. I didn’t know that.

“There. As long as no one breaks the toilet, they should have no reason to check in the tank.” He wipes his hands on the front of his pants, sighing.

Ymir snorts loudly. “Gonna be hard for you, huh?” she jibes, poking me in the ribs with her elbow. 

I roll my eyes, shoving her back.

“Why… why do you think the Captain gave you that?” Armin asks hesitantly, wringing his fingers together.

I purse my lips and stare at the floor, contemplating. 

I don’t know why he gave it to me. It seems that there’s a lot I don’t know.

“Maybe he felt bad,” Ymir shrugs. “He’s always gone easier on us than the others.” She pauses and scrunches up her nose. “Sometimes.” Historia nods in agreement.

“Well, whatever the reason, we have them now, so…” Armin trails off but we all know what he’s thinking.

What are we gonna do with it?

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

“What's the star by Phoenix mean?”

“It means it’s the state Capital,” Marco explains, tapping the map. “See, there's one in every state, Sacramento, Boise, Carson city…” He points to each city and Armin watches with thinly-veiled amazement.

I pick at my shock collar nervously, the movement causing the metal to rub painfully against the irritated spot the needle stabs me every morning. I turn from them and eye the room around me, not convinced that the security cameras can’t see what we’re doing, despite all of Armin and Sasha’s assurances that under that specific bunk is out of of the camera’s line of sight and the microphones in this room are sparse because they have the cameras to rely on- where they got that information I don’t know. We assumed it would be too weird for everyone to gather in the same bathroom for no apparent reason.

We have a blanket ready to throw over the discriminating evidence and Marco’s wings to block them from seeing it in case someone walks in, but both would be a rather thin shield.

The others don’t seem to have such concerns, though, they seem convinced that whoever watches the cameras will think that we’re just having a riveting group discussion (though what there’s to talk about here I don’t know,) so I’m content to hover over them and watch as they pour over the open map spread in the corner of Connie’s bunk. I think I see a hint of a smile on Mikasa’s face as she stands to my right, watching Eren and Armin frantically ask Marco questions that he seems perfectly happy to answer- in fact, I would say he’s brightened up since I pulled the papers out of the tank to show him- and he looks like he quite enjoys telling the others about the outside world.

The fact that we’re apparently in Arizona doesn't mean much to me, we’re still here all the same, but it’s nice to see the other being enthusiastic about something for once- even if that means having to watch them sprawl over a bed to read a map.

“Where are you from, Marco?” Connie asks, tilting his head.

I bend forward to lean my arm above my head on the top bunk, interested in his answer. Marco freezes for a moment and I think Connie hit a nerve, but he softens a moment after. “Right here,” he says, pointing towards the very bottom of California. He cocks his head “Well, technically I was born in Mexico,” he corrects, sliding his finger down to the sliver of Mexico that’s on the map. “But we moved to California when I was little, so I don’t really remember it.”

“Huh,” Sasha says eloquently, crouching so far down her face is practically touching the map as she squints at the tiny words labeling the cities.

“Where’s Ohio?” Connie asks abruptly, leaning so far forward I think he might fall.

“Is that where you're from?” Marco asks, already pointing towards a weirdly-shaped state to the right. Connie nods furiously and stares at the state he points at, a weird expression coming over his face.

“I’ve remembered the name this whole time but I couldn’t remember where it was.”

I’m reminded that Sasha and Connie have only been here since they were twelve and thirteen, not as long as most of us.

Armin sighs dejectedly, and I almost don’t hear it because of how quiet it was.

“What is it?” Marco asks, ever so considerate.

“Nothing. I just… it's been too many years and I was too young, I can't remember where I’m from,” he sighs, eyes still darting over the map like it might hold the answers. 

Marco furrows his eyebrows and turns back to look at the rest of us. 

“Me either,” Ymir shrugs. Mikasa and Eren agree.

I shake my head when his gaze lands on me and he turns back to the map with a scowl.

Sasha, obviously not sensing the moment that the group is having, exclaims, “I think I’m from there!” She points in the general direction of a big state that I don’t know the name of. “Texas,” she adds. Ah, that rings a bell, actually. I remember someone mentioning it at _some point_ before, but I can’t remember the specifics no matter how hard I try.

“Really?” Marco asks, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like a Texan.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” she huffs, crossing her arms.

I tune out of their conversation as Marco starts to frantically explain himself, the solemn atmosphere shattered. 

I take the time to study him; he still has some nasty purple circles under his eyes and I can spot the thin scars on his arms that Hangi put there (apparently there’s a difference between accelerated healing and regeneration, something about him just healing in a faster time, not like, regrowing limbs or anything), but his face lights up in a way that’s been missing these past two months as he talks animatedly to Sasha about the culture in Texas or whatever, and I’m happier than I thought I would be to see it back.

I bite my cheek against a smile, picking at my nails to distract myself.

I look up when Eren steps forward from the other side of the half-circle. We’ve been avoiding each other since the fight- at least, I've been avoiding him, there's certainly no more semi-friendly bickering between us. He acts like I don’t exist, and honestly, I prefer it that way. Now he can’t annoy the shit out of me. Even if my days are a little more boring now.

He glances around, lowering his voice and tilting his head to make sure the cameras can’t see him. “So… In theory… say we escaped, where would we go?”

Everyone goes silent at that.

I’ve decided not to hope. Hope only sows disappointment. I can’t think of one feasible way to escape with my head still on my shoulders. Never one to keep my opinions to myself, I voice my thoughts. “How would we even get out? In case you haven’t noticed, they can track our every move.”

“But only through our collars,” Sasha reminds. “The tracking implants didn’t work.”

I shudder as I’m reminded about the implants. They were a complete, and painful, failure. I rub my arm where at least three useless hunks of metal sit under the skin because they couldn't figure out how to make their own goddamn trackers work for more than a month. Not that I’m complaining.

Eren raises his hand like he’s in kindergarten. “I know for a fact that I can short them out.” 

I snort. “Can you do that without electrocuting the person wearing it?”

He glowers and clenches his fists at his side. “I can, actually.” He’s apparently decided to make an exception to his ‘let’s pretend Jean doesn't exist’ rule.

“But they’ll know the second they’re down.” I continue, unable to keep myself from arguing.

Ymir rolls her eyes and Armin interjects. “That's just one idea, I’m sure we could figure something out.” Historia nods in agreement, putting a hand on Eren's arm.

I barely keep myself from scoffing. What the hell kind of way can we get these collars off without alerting anyone? I’d love to see whatever idea Armin has. And besides, even if Eren _could_ short circuit the collars without frying us, we’d have no idea how to get them off, it’s not like we have the keys. Although… Reiner _could_ break them open. 

I glance back towards the closed door that blocks out Annie, Reiner, Bertholdt, and the rest of the facility. Armin decided that it would be safest not to tell them yet in case Reiner snapped again and turned us all in, so we waited until they were out for training to take out the folder again. I have a feeling that Annie knows exactly what we’re doing, but she hasn't stopped us so I’ll take that as a sign that she agrees with us.

I turn away from the map and go around to the head of the bed, blocking my hands from the cameras with my body and picking up the folder with the rest of the papers and pulling one out at random. It’s the map of the facility scribbled in pencil on lined paper. Not the fanciest map ever, but it gets the job done. 

Most of the stuff on it I already know, seven years in the same building is a lot of time to learn the ins and outs of it, but it’s weird to see it in map form. We are in almost the exact middle of the facility with a maze of hallways and other rooms leading out. The training room is by far the biggest room in the building, taking up over half of the eastern-most wall. The smaller, padded, training rooms are not far from it, and on the exact opposite side is the Med-ward.

I vaguely notice Mikasa coming to stand beside me but I'm too engrossed in the map to acknowledge her. The quickest way out is to the right of this room, and it would lead to the-

Mikasa snatches the map out of my hand.

“Uh-” I start, but she ignores me, climbing over the short metal headboard and onto the mattress, gracefully avoiding squishing Armin and the map in the process before mumbling something into his ear that somehow even I can’t pick up. I lean my elbows on the headboard, watching as Mikasa traces a route on the map through various hallways before getting to the western-most exit, the hanger where they keep the cars not far from it.

Armin nods, a distant expression coming over his face, probably thinking about something. “We’d need the keys for the hummers, though.”

Oh. I blink. So _that's_ what they’re thinking.

“You can’t really be thinking we’d be able to steal the _cars,_ right? I mean- they must be heavily guarded.”

“How else are we supposed to travel? If you couldn't tell, there's nothing but desert for miles around us,” Mikasa deadpans.

“Yeah, and I’d rather not die of dehydration,” Eren butts in.

“Really didn't need your input, Eren,” I say, not bothering to look at him. Connie reaches over and slaps me on the arm hard, and I look down to glare at him.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Marco comments, ignoring us and speaking straight to Mikasa from the other side of the bed. “Though we’d probably need at least two cars to fit all of us, and I’m going to assume that I’m the only one here who can drive.”

“You can drive?” Connie asks, impressed. “Fuckin rad, man.”

Marco quirks a confused eyebrow at him, but then Eren and Ymir start to speak at the same time.

“I bet I could figure-”

“It can’t be that har-”

They turn to glare at each other.

“... Ladies first,” Eren says after a moment of silence.

Ymir huffs. “What I was _saying,_ is that I’m sure I could figure it out, driving I mean.”

“You better not crash us,” Sasha orders like it's certain we’re going to do this.

“It would be kinda counterproductive if you did,” Connie adds.

“Wait, so you guys are just deciding that we’re doing this?” I ask, growing alarmed

“I mean, not right now,” Connie shrugs. “But we can’t stay here forever, right? At this rate, they’ll kill us.”

“It will be okay, Jean,” Marco placates. “We'll come up with a thorough plan.”

I eye him dubiously. I’m not convinced. “And we’ll just avoid all dozens of the soldiers with guns here just by, what? Luck?”

“Like Marco said, we’ll figure something out,” Armin assures. 

I grit my teeth. “Figuring it out” seems like an excuse if I’ve ever seen one, but I decide to bite back another comment, I’m not here to take away whatever sliver of hope they’ve managed to scrape up, no matter how much I want to be realistic.

I exhale a deep breath, rubbing a hand down my face.

“Jesus man, What’s got your panties in a twist?” Connie’s unwelcome voice asks.

“Nothing, okay?” I say maybe a little too loudly, yanking my hand down and closing it to a fist. 

Connie holds his hands up in surrender, eyes flying wide. “Just asking.”

Apparently Eren isn't capable of keeping his mouth shut for more than a moment, but I already knew that. “He’s scared about getting into trouble,” he mocks in a babyish voice, pouting his lip.

“What, and you aren't?” I sneer. “If you could actually think about the consequences of shit you would be.” I think I see Mikasa roll her eyes so far that they go back up into her head. Even Armin looks like he’s a step away from pinching his nose and shaking his head in despair.

Eren takes an aggressive step forward. “Maybe _you_ could pull your head out of your ass and realize not everyone here is treated as nicely as you,” he whisper-yells, a step away from growling. “We can’t all afford to live here for the rest of our lives.”

Not thinking, I’m about to snarl something back when Marco interrupts before another pissing contest can start.

“Jean,” Marco says, still crouching by the map. “It’ll be okay, none of us will try anything if there was a chance of failure.” He shoots a look towards Eren who just purses his lip.

I reluctantly step back, closing my eyes and biting the inside of my lip. “Alright, yeah. Whatever.”

I hang around the outskirts of the group as they whisper for a little while longer, pulling out a few more papers but I tune most of it out, staring blankly at the way Marco’s wings move as he shifts. I wonder if he knows they fluff up when he’s excited.

Eventually, It’s Ymir’s turn to smuggle the folder into the girl’s restroom to hide it there. We decided it would be best to keep it in the girl’s restroom for now, in case someone got suspicious as to _why_ half the team was hanging out in the men’s room yesterday and decided to investigate.

We continue to hang around the bunk to avoid suspicion, but once everyone slowly starts to disperse, I slump onto my own bed. We’re in some dangerous shit now.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Marco was right about the rain. The next night, thunder rumbles the walls of the facility and distant cracks of lightning roll through the desert. Muffled rain falls violently onto the roof and the wind howls as it whips around corners, but so deep in the base I’m sure that I’m the only one that can hear.

The world outside sounds angry, but my heart isn't doing so good either. With every _crash_ of thunder it threatens to jump out of my chest, and, lying on my back, staring at the bottom of Marco’s bunk above me, I tense in anticipation of every new _boom_. I know that none of the others can hear it as clearly as me, they probably feel more than hear the thunder as it reverberates through the facility, but that doesn't stop me from wishing the storm would end already.

On the topic of wishing, I wish I had my blindfold or even my goggles to help block out any stoppable sensory input, but Levi took them a few weeks ago- sometimes I think he _tries_ to be an unlikeable ass.

It’s not lights-out yet, but close to it, so everyone has either already retired to their bunks or are having soft conversations- or both in Connie and Sasha’s case, Sasha is hanging face-first of her bunk to talk down at Connie. Ymir is lounging on her bed as some sort of giant cat with spots. Sometimes I’m jealous of her. She has such a cool Deviance.

Marco, walking back to his bunk after a hushed conversation with Armin, must have noticed because his eyes narrow into me, concerned. 

“Do storms make you nervous?”

“No, they’re just a bit loud.” That's a half-truth really, but he doesn't need to know that.

He nods in understanding. “I've always liked them. It doesn't rain much from where I’m from so they were always kind of exciting- plus I think the clouds look cool.”

I quirk my head. “They do?”

He looks at me weird. “Have you…” he seems to search for the words. “... Have you never seen a thunderstorm before?”

I shrug. “I’ve never really seen rain before, no. At least, not that I can remember.”

He stares at me like I just told him I ran over his dog. 

The longer he looks at me the more defensive I get. “Well, you know, they keep us inside during the rainy season, something about security or something,” I explain, shifting in my seat almost anxiously. 

“You can’t just have _not_ seen rain before,” Marco says incredulously.

“It started drizzling on us once during training a couple years ago,” I offer somewhat sheepishly, like it's _my_ fault I’ve never seen rain.

He seems to have an internal debate for a moment, a flurry of emotions flitting over his face before settling on a distant type of playful.

“Come here then.”

I cock a brow. “Where?”

“The training room, so you can see out the windows. You said it yourself, they let us wander as long as we aren't causing trouble.”

“And we aren't?” I joke, slipping to my feet after a moment’s thought. It’s not like I have anything better to.

“Not planning on it.”

I let him lead me out and through the hallways, not passing any guards. I notice that he purposely takes us the longer route to avoid the halls connected to the Med-ward but I don’t comment, though I do send a glare in the general Direction of Hangi’s office, hoping against hope that she will somehow be able to sense the invisible daggers I’m sending her way and, like, drop-dead or something. I think that’s wishful thinking, though.

Somewhere along the way lights-out comes and the hallways dim, softening everything in the low light. I almost sigh in relief. That’s some good shit.

The rain grows louder the closer we get to the edge of the facility, and by the time Marco shoulders open one of the heavy doors, I can almost hear the sound of rain on metal clearly, only the distant growl of thunder occasionally overpowering it.

The training room is almost pitch black (I can make out the shapes of the equipment scattering the room but I doubt Marco can), except for the windows on the far wall, letting in soft bluish-purple light.

“Oh,” I breathe out as I walk towards the window. He wasn't wrong, the clouds do look cool. By the time we reach the window I can see the storm brewing in the sky, rain pelting down and splattering on the dirt outside, creating a fine mist that I can see even in the darkness. The clouds look angry, but have almost a purple glow at some parts, further illuminated by the harsh lights of the facility.

The rain seems to have calmed down a bit so I kneel to see the sky better, folding my arms on the windowsill and resting my chin on them. Marco crouches beside me. I press a curious finger to the window: it’s warm despite the rain.

Even though I jump as lightning strikes somewhere far behind one of the plateaus, the resounding thunder reaching us a few heartbeats later, I can’t help a smile from spreading over my face. I knew what storms were in an abstract sense, I hear them every year after all, but to _actually_ see one is quite different. I’m left wondering why I didn't think to come see one earlier. This is similar to what I thought they'd look like, but I never thought there’d be this much color, especially at night.

My eyes are torn from the sky when I see Marco repeatedly glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

“What?” I ask, self-conscious, immediately scrubbing the smile from my face.

“Oh-” he looks embarrassed that he got caught. “Just- uh… nevermind.” He bites his lip and looks down, hunching his shoulders.

“No, what is it?” I press. I’m curious now. 

He shrugs, trying- and failing- to look nonchalant. “You just uh, have a nice smile, that’s all. You should use it more often.” He clears his throat awkwardly. It’s hard to tell in the near darkness, but I think I see his face flare up red as he avoids my eyes, suddenly engrossed with a smudge on the windowsill.

I stare at him, heat rising to my cheeks. “O-oh. Thanks?” 

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, looking like he’s about to melt into a puddle on the floor.

I turn back to the window feeling strangely shy, biting the inside of my cheeks against an involuntary grin.

Luckily, a sudden crash of lightning less than a mile away makes me let out an embarrassing yelp, ruining whatever moment it was we were having. 

“Hey, it's not funny,” I whine, but I can’t help the way a smile fights its way onto my face.

“I know, I know, sorry,” He chuckles, eyes crinkling in the corners.

I gather myself from where I had fallen back onto my ass, glaring at him without malice. “Yeah yeah, laugh it up.”

He snickers but turns back to the window, letting me right myself in peace.

The rain picks up, only the small overhang above the window keeping it from splattering against the glass. I wonder if the water is cold or warm like the air. I wish I could crack it open and stick my arm out to feel it but that would trigger the alarm which is just about the last thing I want to do, so I’m content to just watch.

“It’s monsoon season so it’s probably gonna be raining a lot these next couple months,” Marco says, and I hum in acknowledgment even though I don’t really know what a monsoon is. This storm is one, I assume.

Another softer rumble of thunder erupts from somewhere far away, making the glass shudder.

Marco half turns to me, partially opening his mouth like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.

“Come on, spit it out, I can take it,” I say.

He looks up in surprise then scrunches his nose, scratching his head and ruffling his black hair that's grown pretty long these past few months- maybe I’ll get Historia to give him a haircut later. “Not to ruin the mood or anything- I was just wondering- but what's up with Reiner? He seems nice but everyone treats him like a time-bomb and no one gives me a straight answer as to why.”

This time it’s my turn to scrunch up my nose. “It's… complicated,” I start, but I find that he's listening intently. “Levi says he’s bipolar, but all I know is that half the time he's like any of us- better, really, hates SURVEY as much as the rest of us, but the rest of the time he just… shuts down and becomes completely loyal to them, which is why sometimes we worry he's going to rat us out.”

Marco slowly nods in understanding, furrowing his eyebrows. “He was one of the first ones here, right?”

“Yeah. All this time here must’ve fucked him up.” I can’t help but feel a bit like a school girl gossiping about her classmates. Whatever, Marco deserves to know.

He looks down in thought, and I can tell that he obviously has more questions.

“All right, question time,” I say, sitting back on the floor, still able to see the churning sky outside. “I can tell you have more so shoot, I don’t bite.”

“Oh no, It's okay,” He stammers, shaking his head.

I give him an unimpressed look.

“Fine… just-,” he bites his lip in thought. “Do you really not remember where you’re from, like your family and all that?”

Ah, know I understand what was bugging him. “Oh, I remember my family alright,” I say, voice growing bitter. “But no- I don’t know where we lived, all I remember is that it snowed sometimes and that it was in America. That information just kind of gets lost over the years.”

He looks at me with concern, face heavily shadowed by the darkness. He somehow silently prompts me to explain with only his eyes.

I scoff, waving a dismissing hand. “It’s nothing, really, I just…” I wince as I remember. “My last memory of them isn't the fondest, is all.”

He looks like he's going to say more but I stop him before he can.

“What does your mom do?” I ask a little too quickly, remembering that he has a mom and a sister.

He eyes me, obviously catching the topic change, but thankfully decides not to push. I didn't think he would, anyway. “... She’s a surgeon.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Cool.”

“Yeah… it is.” he replies.

Another flash of lightning illuminates the room. Eren couldn’t hope to match that. 

I chew on my lip, glancing his way. I can’t tell if the atmosphere is awkward now or if it’s just me. Probably me. 

“Thanks,” I blurt out.

He tilts his head, looking as surprised as I feel. “What for?”

“This,” I say, gesturing around us, flushing a little. I’m not used to thanking people. “It's a- uh, nice distraction I guess.” 

He smiles warmly and I think I feel my heart stutter. “Of course.”

I wonder if it's a distraction for him too.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The passing days soon turn into weeks, no different than life was before we got the folder except for the thick air of nervousness and anticipation that hangs in the air. It seems that none of us are brave enough to take the idea of escape past the theoretical stage, much less come up with a plan of action. 

I've more or less shut it down whenever anyone tries to bring it up. I don't want anyone hurt- or killed- just because we were trying to escape. It’s not like no one has tried to escape before, I’m sure half of us tried on our first week here, but no one has ever been close to successful- and SURVEY would certainly be less lenient towards us now that we’ve been here for years. I wouldn't put it past them to put us down like the dogs we become more trouble than we’re worth.

But right now I have other things on my mind for once.

I shift anxiously, clutching the book in my hands, trying not to be nervous.

Why am I nervous? This is like, the _least_ nerve-racking thing I’ve done this week.

Marco has been on bed rest this past day after what seemed to be a particularly harrowing experiment, and he looks pretty tired. I don’t like seeing him like this.

We decided to permanently switch bunks so he didn't have to haul himself up the ladder every time he's… injured. As much as I hate the reason for it, I’m glad that he didn’t make a big deal out of it- though now that I think about it, he really doesn't make a big deal out of anything, even when it's totally justified. 

He looks up as I approach, a strained but genuine smile coming over his face the second he spots me. 

“Here,” I mumble, shoving the book into his hands. “Armin said you liked Vonnegut so I had Levi get this.”

He looks at me in surprise and examines the copy of _Slaughterhouse-Five_ he’s holding. “Oh, I do, thank you. That's really nice.” He gives me one of those smiles that have no right to being so sweet.

I flush. “It’s not that nice.”

“No, it is,” he insists. “I’m sure it wasn't easy to talk to Levi.”

He’s right. It was hard. But I can’t let him know that. “It was no big deal,” I shrug. “Besides, you should thank Armin- I only knew because of him, and Levi is the one who got it…”

He watches me with an amused look, setting the book beside him and resting a hand on it, letting me ramble. “Thank you anyway,” he says softly.

I shrug again, rubbing my neck, skin still hot. “Yeah, no problem.” Unable to continue looking at his stupidly sincere face, my eyes drift, trying to find what it was that caused him to be allowed to go on bed rest but coming up empty.

He seems to guess what I’m looking for and his face contorts in a grimace. “It was nothing physical, I just… needed a break.”

I frown. It's not every day that you can catch a break because you “needed one”, there must be more to it. I hesitantly sit on the edge of his cot, a breach of space I rarely travel, but I decide to make an exception for right now. “Wanna… talk about it?”

He shakes his head, looking down, but there's still an upward tilt to his lips. “Not right now.”

“Oh thank god.” I blurt, deflating. “I’m terrible at comforting people.”

He laughs, actually _laughs_. I’m quite proud of myself.

He looks like he wants to say something, but seems to decide against it. “That's all right, we all have our weaknesses,” he says instead, a playful quirk to his lips.

It’s then that I realize I was being selfish by dissuading anyone from thinking about escape.

“I- I’m sorry,” I say without thinking.

He furrows his eyebrows. “What for?”

“I've been a jerk lately, trying to keep everyone from… you know,” I shrug, worried about the microphones. I think there's one in this corner of the room. He seems to guess what I mean.

“Oh, you haven't been-”

“No, I have. Eren was right, I’m being a coward. They- and especially you- need to get out of here. I shouldn't try to keep us from trying.”

“Jean.” He smiles fondly. “You aren't being a coward by being cautious. It means you care about us. There's nothing wrong with that.”

I open my mouth to retort something to discredit that last sentence but come up with nothing. I shrug, looking down at my feet.

“Stop shrugging everything off,” Marco scolds without malice, batting my arm.

“Alright, Jesus,” I laugh, raising my hands in surrender.

“Just Marco’s fine, Jean.”

“That not what I-” I glare at him, unimpressed. “Did you know that Sasha and Connie have taken to calling you Freckled Jesus behind your back?”

He blinks, raising his eyebrows. “No?”

“Well they do.”

He laughs almost unbelievingly, shaking his head. “Those two…”

I snort in agreement, thinking back on what he said. 

I guess we’ve gotta get out of here, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I think we've gotten through the slowest part of the fic, stuff will start picking up soon. I'm VERY excited to get to a plot point where a... certain tag will come into play. But that probably won't be for another 30-50k words.
> 
> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Until next time!


	8. What's a Devil to do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter has been bugging me for a while so I finally changed it on 6/30/2020, just so you know. It doesn't affect the story but might give more insight on this chapter, so it's up to you whether you want to look back on it. (and if you're reading this at a later date just ignore this.)
> 
> Warning: Dog bites/attacks.

**10:28 pm, September 1st, 2022**

**Jean Kirstein**

“We’ll start from the locker room.”

I snap my head up, tearing my eyes from the map. “What- Why? That's further from the exit than here.”

“But it's less heavily guarded and is closer to the edge of base, meaning we won’t need to go through the thick of it and can avoid the center where most of the soldiers are,” Armin explains

“Alright... I guess that makes sense.”

“We’ll have to do it right after training,” he says. “Then you and Reiner can collect Marco while the rest of us secure the cars.”

I eye Reiner warily out of the corner of my eye. We’d told him, Annie, and Bertholdt about the plan to escape and so far they're taking it better than I thought they would. From how nervous Bertholdt looked I thought he might decide to bail out last minute but Reiner and Annie got him back on track. Reiner had been understandably upset that we’d kept it from him, but he also realized that it was a necessary precaution, so I try not to feel too bad.

I’m still not big on the idea of just me and Reiner going to get Marco from wherever Hangi hides him during the day. If Reiner turns on us we’re done for, but he knows the facility better than any of us so I need him to even have a chance.

As if he can hear my thoughts, Marco nudges me with his shoulder. “It will be alright, Reiner hasn't shown any sign of loyalty towards SURVEY the entire time I've known him.” But that's the thing, I love the guy, but he can flip like a switch.

Armin scrunches up his face as if he just remembered something and calls Reiner over. “Will you be okay without your meds?” he asks when he approaches.

Reiner leans an arm on the top bunk. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I can even see if I can find some while getting him,” he says casually, gesturing towards Marco.

“Make sure not to take long, though,” Armin reminds him. “We need to leave once we’ve got the cars secured, we can’t forget about the snipers.”

“Which is why we need to wait for a rainy day,” Reiner finishes. “Don’t worry, I remember.”

“And judging by the soldier’s schedules the safest time to do it is early November,” Armin says. We all nod slowly, looking at each other. 

Reiner rubs his hands together and grins. “Cool.”

“Cool.” Armin echos.

I snort. This is so anti-climatic. Marco chuckles beside me.

We soon dissolve into full-blown laughter.

“Well,” Armin starts, smiling and wiping a tear from his eye. “I guess we should tell the others.”

I shift on the cot, feeling strangely giddy.

“ _Guys_.”

I jump, almost hitting my head on the bunk above me and totally kicking one of Marco’s wings when I hear Sasha's voice next to my ear. That girl can move damn quietly when she wants to. “What?” I ask, embarrassed.

She picks at her nails absentmindedly. “Tell everyone to pack their backpacks now too,” she says. “I have a bad feeling.”

“Like normal feeling or Deviance feeling?” Armin asks worriedly.

“Deviance.”

Armin blows out a breath.

That's not good.

Ever since she warned Eren not to take a jump because he was going to break his face but he did anyway and did exactly that, we’ve learned to trust her instincts- whether they’re actually part of her Deviance or not.

So I’m not ashamed when I take her warning to heart.

“Well, you heard the woman,” I say and the others scramble to (quietly) spread the news.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

A few days later I'm trying not to sweat out my insides as I’m marched down to Commander Smith’s office. Did he find out about the plan? He must have, why else would he call me up? But why does it have to be _me_?

“So, Agent 009,” Commander Smith starts, sitting behind his mahogany desk, hand sat neatly in front of him, empty shirt sleeve hanging at his side. I slowly lower myself into the seat across from him. “Do you know why you're here?”

The office smells chemical. The taste of bleach and disinfectant stings the back of my throat with every breath I take. I barely hold a sneeze in.

“Um, no sir,” I say, hiding my shaking hands under the desk and trying to still my tapping foot.

He hums thoughtfully, nodding to himself. I feel that I said the wrong thing.

“You see…” He says, leaning forwards, and looking off to the left. “There have been reports of a lot of… _whispering_ going on in the dorms. Do you care to explain that?”

My heart skips a beat. “Um- I’m not sure what you mean sir.”

He tilts his head and studies me for a moment. “Very well. Soon it won’t matter anyway.”

I watch him with wide eyes. That sounded ominous.

He pulls a folder out from under the desk and sets it on the table in front of me. 

For one, heart-stopping moment, I think he found the folder Levi gave me, that he was showing this to me before he has me punished for treachery, but then I realize I’m being stupid. There's no way he could have found it, it's still hidden in the girl’s bathroom… right?

He opens it, turning it around so it’s facing the right direction and placing it in front of me. I furrow my eyebrows, not understanding. He waits expectantly so I hesitantly pick it up, scanning the typed words.

_URGENT_

_2/23/2015_

_Re: Subject 009Btk-es and relocation sites._

_Attn:_ _Mr. Secretary of the Department of Defense._

_It has come to our attention that our current facility in [REDACTED] has been compromised. The public has been alerted to our presence and reporters are already sniffing at our backs. We’ve already had a few attempt to drive out here to see the facility. Families of the deceased want to know what happened. Some can be bought out- others can’t. I believe it would be in our best interest to relocate. Our team has already found sites in [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] that would lend themselves well as relocation sites, further information in the attachment below. We will leave the rest to you and the President._

_As for_ _Subject 009Btk-es, the ultimate decision was to go against protocol and keep him alive. We came to the conclusion that he is more valuable than subjects 000Bck and 005hk whom we lost. He is well worth the risk involved. Yes, we understand we’re called the Special Units Restricted to Valued Elemental and Yellow-class Deviants for a reason, but this can be a viable exception. Of course, if you decide otherwise, we won’t hesitate to put him down, but we must realize the importance of getting our hands on a newly-manifested Red-class, this is an opportunity that should not go to waste-_

I stop reading there, looking up at him in shock.

“I’m afraid we haven't been completely honest with you,” he says. “To put it bluntly, 009, you’re a Red-class Deviant.”

“N-no, that's not right,” I stutter, looking over the paper again like it’s contents might change. “I didn’t do _that_ much damage, I just broke a gas line, I didn't know we relocated-”

Commander Smith holds up a silencing hand and my teeth snap shut almost against my will. “Do you remember the incident happening, or the immediate aftermath?”

I look at him incredulously. “... Yeah?” _It's a recurring nightmare,_ I add internally. How could I forget?

“Are you sure? Or do you just remember the moment before?”

I scour my brain, coming up short. Weird. I can only remember second-hand accounts.

He nods to himself, seemingly guessing what I’m thinking.

Suddenly the office around me disappears, replaced by a large stark-white room, red splattering the walls. I jerk out of my chair, but if I send it falling back I don't hear it. An industrial light creaks as it swings from the ceiling, the blood soaking it dyeing the light it emits pink.

I take a few steps back and my calf hits the leg of the chair, but when I look behind myself I see nothing but white tile.

I know this isn't real but God, it feels like it. 

“No Yellow-class Deviant could do what you did, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember it,” Commander Smith says from everywhere and nowhere, not visible to me.

My breath hitches as the image flashes again and I look down to see myself kneeling at my feet.

I look young, eleven and skinny, my hands pressing over my eyes, looking a step away from gouging them out. I was as good as blind back then, the smallest amount of light bleaching out my vision entirely.

I glance to the right to find a younger-looking Levi kneeling over a body, an eerily blank expression masking whatever he’s feeling. 

Taking a few steps towards them I encounter an invisible wall blocking me from moving close enough to see the body’s face but I know who it must be anyway. 

I look away, feeling nauseous.

The mutilated corpses of four soldiers are spread behind young-me like they were tossed there without a second thought- and they aren’t the only ones. Many bodies lay scattered across the room, some thrown against the walls, and arcs of blood stain the floor.

“The human psyche is such a curious thing, isn't it?” Smith’s disembodied voice comments. “It's a wonder how much the mind can just block out.”

The image (the illusion, I remind myself. It’s just a projection controlled by Smith), shifts again and suddenly I’m in the far corner of the room, looking down at a huddled group of children that I immediately identify as the others.

An eleven-year-old Eren is half-draped over Mikasa protectively, teeth bared in young-me’s direction. A spitting lion cub that must be Ymir is shielding a crying Historia who is cowering from a soldier's mangled corpse that got thrown a few feet from her. Annie and Bertholdt are watching the scene with wide eyes and I realize that this is the first time I’ve ever seen Annie _scared._ Reiner, who must be almost thirteen, making him the oldest of the group, is posed protectively in front of all of them, arms hardened and held up defensively.

For a moment I wonder why Armin’s missing before I remember that he’d only been here a few days at this point and probably hadn’t been introduced to the team yet. Lucky him.

Suddenly, a ceiling tile falls to my left, startling me. I look up and my eyes widen in horror as I realize that there's a _gaping hole in the ceiling._ How didn't I notice that before?

It looks like someone took the sheets of metal and rebar and twisted it outwards, sending chunks of concrete crumbling to the floor. The sky outside is cloudless and blue, not fitting the mood at all.

Of course, I’ve known that I killed all these people, it's something everyone loves to remind me of, but I don't specifically remember _doing_ it. I remember the occasional snippet or muffled conversation and a great _ripping_ sensation, but everything else has been from second-hand accounts. I had no idea that I _blew the ceiling open._ That must be why we re-located.

I look down at Eren again. Now I understand why he doesn't like me. I didn't know they were here- maybe most of them blocked out the memory too.

I jump when the scene shifts back and Levi appears in the corner of my eye. Commander Smith is to my left now, but not the real one, the old (or should I say younger) one, with his mutilated arm hanging limp and bloody at his side, his handgun pointed at young-me’s skull.

He switches the safety off.

“Don’t,” Levi rasps, slowly standing up from Isabel’s body.

“Why shouldn't we? I would think you of all people would want him dead, don’t pretend that 000 and 005 weren't your favorites,” Commander Smith says coldly, pressing the gun to young-me’s forehead. I don’t even flinch, to out of it to notice.

“And let _this_ be for nothing?” Levi says, gesturing to the destruction around him.

“Why are you showing me this?” I demand as past Smith and Levi continue to go back and forth, turning in a slow circle, trying to find Smith even though I know it’s useless. “What's the point? You just trying to tell me that I’m a monster? News flash- I already knew that!”

The illusion disappears and I whirl, finding myself back in the office. I glower at the Commander who is still sitting calmly at his desk.

“Why did I show you that?” he echos. “So you know your potential. If you’re able to harness that same energy again-”

“No,” I interrupt, pointing a shaking finger at him. “No, I- I can't, I _won’t.”_

“I wasn’t aware that you had a choice,” Smith says calmly, pulling another paper out of the pile

My blood boils and I see red but I bite back a retort, knowing whatever I say will only make things worse.

“But why now?” the Commander asks for me. “You see, people are getting _impatient._ They want weapons. And a weapon is useless if it doesn't fight for you. So they’ve decided that it would be best for us to… focus our efforts.

I stiffen, watching him warily. “What's that supposed to mean?” I ask slowly.

“I’m getting to that,” he says. He pauses. “Why don’t you take a seat.”

I eye him suspiciously, slowly setting the chair upright again and reluctantly sitting.

Smith inhales deeply. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but our ‘team’ approach isn't working. We’ve worked on 001, 002, and 003 the longest, yet they haven’t performed a 100% successful mission. The board decided that we should scrap that approach altogether.”

A feeling of dread curls in my gut. “What do you mean?”

“We’re terminating the project,” he says bluntly. “I called you here to tell you that you’re being relocated.”

“What about the others?” I hesitantly ask, scared of the answer.

“That's not your concern,” Smith says cooly

Oh.

This must be why Levi gave me the information. He knew this was coming.

“N-no,” I say, standing up again, horror and fear weighing heavy in my stomach. “You’re not doing anything to them. You can’t just- just-” I fumble for the words, head reeling. “You can’t just stick me in a team for seven years and expect me not to care about them!”

“I know,” Smith says, holding a hand up. “It was our mistake. We thought putting you together would strengthen each of you individually but it appears we were wrong.”

“Fucking obviously,” I hiss. “You aren't taking me anywhere, dipshit.” It feels like years of anger is erupting right at this moment. I’ve wanted to call Smith a dipshit ever since I learned the word from Levi when I was twelve.

He sighs like he’s disappointed in me. “Too bad, I _was_ going to give you a chance to say goodbye. Guards,” he calls. They immediately barge in like they were waiting for his command- they probably were. “Take him to the Humvee.”

I round on them but they grab me roughly by the shoulders, one of them bringing up a remote and connecting it to my shock collar.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, Jesus,” I snarl, yanking my arm from their grips but they just grab me harder than before. I catch one last look at the Commander before the door swings shut behind me.

Two more come to flank me, hands resting on their handguns threateningly.

My mind races a mile a minute while they lead me down the hall. If I get in that Humvee I’m never coming back, and Armin, Eren, Ymir, Sasha, Connie, _Marco-_ they’re all dead. And no one is allowed to kill Eren but me.

I eye the remote in the soldier's hand. I haven't done anything like this in years but.. what the hell, it’s now or never. I focus on it and it crushes in his hand like a tin can. The solder startles, dropping it, but I shove them away with a little help from my Deviance and I turn and bolt down the hall before they can right themselves, twisting the metal of my shock collar until it snaps and throwing it off.

I count the doors as I pass them, and suddenly the alarm blares to life, red flashing as the hallways go dim.

I skid to a stop as I round a corner, finding a group of running soldiers, and I immediately turn back, pressing my back to the wall. _Shit._

Luckily, they didn’t seem to see me, but it won't be long before whoever is watching the cameras alerts them so the second they’re out of sight I resume my sprint through the halls, heart beating in my throat.

When I finally reach the bunkroom I slam the doors open. They stare at me in shock, and a look of realization comes over each of their faces as they realize I was the cause for the alarms.

“Wha-” Connie starts, stepping forward.

“No time to explain. Remember the plan? We’re doing that now.”

They stare for a long second before exploding in a flurry of movement, swinging bags of their shoulders and gathering their little possessions. I briefly see Sasha lift up her mattress to reveal a hidden cache food and start shoveling it into her backpack- whatever, time to question her about that later. Right now, we have to deal with these damn collars.

“Eren,” I bark. “Short the collars out.”

As if on cue, everyone’s collars flick to red and the low buzz of electricity fills the room as everyone but Eren and I drop to the floor.

“Shit!” He shouts, diving to wrap his hands around the closest person’s shock collar, which happens to be Mikasa, a hissing sound permuting the air before it short-circuits and she takes a gasping breath. Eren jumps to the next person.

I watch the others, feeling helpless. I don’t want to try to rip theirs off like I did mine because I’m not sure I won’t accidentally impale them with a rogue shard of metal- I’m much more aware of my own neck than I am theirs. It would kind of defeat the whole point of breaking out if I accidentally killed them.

So I decide to let Eren take care of it and I rush to my bunk to pull my backpack full of all my possessions over my shoulder. Sasha's instincts saved us once again. Luckily I don’t own much so it's not heavy, just a few changes of clothes and a toothbrush, really. I go ahead and swing Marco’s backpack over my shoulder too. He’s not here so I’m going to assume he’s wherever Hangi drags him off to all day.

I shift in place anxiously, keeping an eye on the door and an ear out for footsteps. Eren is taking too long for my liking. “Can you hurry it up?” I hiss through gritted teeth.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Eren growls, sending the red light on Annie’s collar into darkness with a jolt of electricity before moving onto the next one.

All this standing and waiting is making me nervous- not to mention that I know how badly those collars hurt and a quarter of them are still enduring it. The fact that they turned all our collars on at once means they know that I’m here, so soldiers are soon to follow.

I have the feeling they won't be shooting tranq-darts at us, either.

Eren finishes frying the last one and he angrily shoots a streak of orange lighting from his hand into the ceiling. Sparks fly and the lights flicker and shut off, the alarm going quiet and the hum of electronics in the walls getting cut short. The only thing keeping the room from falling into darkness is the weak back-up lights that must be powered by a nearby generator. Other than that it sounds like all the power in the facility is out. That means no cameras. Good. I guess Eren is good for something.

“Alright, let's go,” Reiner grunts, coming to stand on wobbly legs. Ymir hands Historia her backpack and shifts into a tiger, swaying on her feet a little with the aftermath of the shocks and Annie goes invisible. Reiner pushes the door open, peeking his head through the gap before opening it entirely, announcing that it’s clear.

I’m almost impressed at how well we worked together. Sure, they’re probably going to beat my ass for springing this on them later, but right now they don’t question me- probably sensing the urgency in my voice. I hope they’re going along with this because they trust me and not just because they’re scared.

“Come on,” Reiner says to me, going straight instead of turning left like the rest of them. “Med-ward is down here.” Right. Marco.

“Good luck,” Connie whispers to us.

“You too,” I return. “I’ll be mad if you get shot.”

He grins. “Right back at ya.”

I run down the dark hall with Reiner, stopping at each corner to make sure there's no one there before proceeding. The cameras sit dead in the ceiling, their little blinking red lights shut off. 

It hits me that this might be the first time in seven years that I’m not being watched or listened to.

“This way,” Reiner hisses, cutting through a long room, and it takes me a moment to realize why it seems familiar. I pause in front of one of the five seemingly inconspicuous doors on the left wall, but I know it’s far from that. Reiner takes a few more steps before he notices my lagging.

He notices what's stopped me immediately. “Hey, come on. We do this right, you never have to set foot in that room again,” he says surprisingly softly.

I take a deep breath and nod, tearing my eyes away from the solitary confinement room where I’ve spent dozens upon dozens of hours in near-torture. 

I follow him down the hall without looking back.

We take a few more turns before I hear the click of many boots against the ground a couple of halls down.

“Soldiers,” I warn before Reiner can hear them.

He curses, then squints to himself and turns to me. “You should do your thing.”

I furrow my eyebrows “Huh? What thing?”

“You know,” he says, making an exaggerated pushing gesture then mimicking an explosion. “Your thing.”

It takes me a good few seconds to realize what he means. “No,” I hiss. “I’m not killing anyone! Besides, I can’t exactly do that on command.” 

He shuffles his feet for a second, then sighs. “Guess we’re going up then.”

“Up?”

I watch, confused, as he bends his knees and _jumps,_ stretching a hand above him and pushing up a ceiling tile, grabbing onto one of the metal rails between each tile. He pulls himself up with a grunt, crawling into the ceiling and lifting the tile out of the way before reaching a hand down to me.

The footsteps are getting closer so I don’t hesitate to take it, jumping up and barely reaching his hand (seriously, how did he make that jump?) and letting him haul me up next to him.

As I’m climbing into the crawlspace, however, the first of the soldiers- a man with brown hair who I recognize to be Bertholdt’s handler- turns into the hall and I panic, clambering up as fast as I can and sliding the tile back into place.

I hold my breath. There's no way he didn't see that. Reiner tenses beside me, he must have realized what freaked me out. I wait for the inevitable “ _Hey! They’re over here!”_ or maybe they’ll just start shooting first. But it doesn't come.

I hear the other soldiers march into the hall but the first one just hesitates and keeps walking, passing right under us. 

When I can’t hear them anymore I let out a relieved breath. Maybe he hadn't seen me after all- or maybe he let us go. Either way, it doesn't matter as long as we’re not caught. 

“Is this how you’ve snuck around all this time?” I ask Reiner as we crawl in the direction of the Med-ward.

“Mhm,” He confirms. “I’m honestly surprised they never figured it out. They’re stupider than they look.”

It’s slow going, we can’t be too fast or else they’ll be able to hear us and each tile bends under my knees as I crawl. If it weren't for the fact that Reiner, who must have fifty pounds on me, hasn't broken the ceiling yet I would be scared I’d fall right through. 

It’s almost pitch black in here, only the tiniest slivers of light coming from in between the tiles but Reiner seems to know his way perfectly, not banging his head into walls twice a minute like I do. The fact that I’m wearing two backpacks doesn't help my balance either.

“Should be about here…” Reiner lifts a tile experimentally, peeking under it. “Yeah. Right here.” He lifts it all the way off and lets me drop through first before he lowers himself and replaces the tile before joining me.

I look around, we’re in the main room of the abandoned Med-ward. The dim red emergency lights throw dark shadows on the ground and give the whole room and eerie appearance.

“Here's to hoping he’s here and not Hangi’s office,” Reiner says, heading towards the smaller rooms.

I strain my ears for any sign of him, of anyone.

“Wait,” I hiss as Reiner reaches for the first door handle. “I think he and someone else are in there.” I hear the faint murmur of voices from behind the door, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. 

I look up; the ceiling here is concrete so we won't be going that way.

Reiner curses under his breath. “Well, we’re Deviants, we can take one soldier,” he reasons.

I’m not sure. I don’t want to hurt anyone. 

“On three?” Reiner asks, positioning himself against the door. I nod reluctantly, coming to stand against the wall next to the door. “One, two, _three.”_

He slams the door open and rushes in, and I barely pass the threshold before Reiner socks the guard that Marco was apparently trying to talk to on the jaw, knocking her out cold.

Marco yelps and jumps up. “You didn't kill her, did you?”

“Nah, she’ll wake up in a sec.”

My eyes dart down the hall again. No other soldiers yet. 

“Come on Marco, we’re leaving.” I slip his backpack off my shoulders and toss it to him. He fumbles with it for a second before clipping it on (he has a special one that clips at the straps because of his wings). “Now?” he asks incredulously.

“Yeah. I’ll explain later.”

I grab him by the wrist and practically pull him out of the room before realizing that his shock collar is still active- that isn't good.

“We need to get your collar off-”

“On it,” Reiner interrupts. Grabbing Marco’s collar surprisingly delicately and twisting it. It breaks with a sharp _snap_ and he bends it further to make a gap wide enough to pull it off. 

That's one way of doing it, I guess.

“Woah,” Marco breathes, sounding relieved, rubbing a hand over his neck.

He’s right. I hadn’t had time to think about it before but I actually have the full range of motion in my neck for the first time in forever. I can actually look at my own feet now without bending forward. Whatever, there's time to marvel about that later, for now we gotta rejoin the others.

As if he read my thoughts, Reiner says, “Come on, we can’t leave the others waiting.”

I dart down the halls as silently as I can, the other two following close behind me. Hopefully the others are close to securing the cars, and they hopefully managed to escape unnoticed or are able to fend the soldiers off, I can’t stand one of them getting hurt because of me-

I’m so engrossed in my thoughts that I don’t hear the approaching footsteps before it’s too late and I run straight into someone who was turning the corner at the same time as me.

I stumble back, ready to fight if I have to, but I find not the soldier that I was expecting, but a wide-eyed, disheveled-looking Dr. Ral.

“009,” she gasps, stepping back.

I’m about to lunge forward and tell her that she better not go calling for backup when she suddenly looks… relieved.

“I’m so glad I found you,” she pants. “Take this, it’s not much, but it’ll help.” She thrusts her hand out, holding something in her clenched fist. 

“What is it?” Reiner asks gruffly from over my shoulder as I hesitantly take whatever it is she’s holding, turning it over my hand. It's a small metal key and a crumpled piece of paper. The paper is slightly damp with her sweat- she must have run the whole way here.

“I have a house down in flagstaff, SURVEY doesn't know about it so they won’t look there, I promise,” she explains, gathering her breath. “The address and directions are on the paper. I figured you guys would want it since you won’t have anywhere else to go.”

I squint at her suspiciously. “Why should we trust _you?_ For all we know there could be an ambush waiting there. _”_

She flinches, looking down and seeming unsure. “I- I-” She sighs, looking defeated. “It’s not right how you guys are treated here- so I wanted to- to-”

“Wanted to what?” I scoff, suddenly angry. “Make up for it? Give me a break.”

“Jean,” Marco placates, coming up on my left and setting a light hand on my arm. “I believe her, I don’t think she's trying to turn us in.”

I bite my cheek. I guess there’s no harm in taking it. I shove the key and slip of paper into my pocket, pushing past Dr. Ral without acknowledging her. 

I distantly hear Marco thanking her as he moves to follow me, but I don’t think she deserves it. She thinks that one kind act will just make up for the fact that she's sat in the lap of SURVEY for years, carried out their torturous experiments, and yet has the gall to _feel bad for us? To pity us?_ Where was that remorse when Marco was getting tortured, or when they’d lock me up in blazingly bright rooms as punishment, or when they’d run Connie into the ground, or make Ymir pause halfway into a shift to study her, or cut out little pieces of Annie’s skin to analyze and force Bertholdt to kill hamsters and cats even though it gave him nightmares for days-

I shake my head, snapping myself out of it, even if I’m still seething on the inside. Whatever. It doesn't matter now. What matters is that we get out of here and I never have to see her face again.

**4:03 pm, September 5th, 2022**

**Marco Bodt**

“Thank you,” I say to Dr. Ral, turning backward to talk to her while following Jean and Reiner.

She swallows and nods. “Be safe!” she shouts after us. 

I’ll do my best.

I have no idea what's happening, but I follow as Reiner takes the lead to guide us down the dark halls. Somehow it looks like the power went out. We eventually reach the end of the halls without crossing anyone else- I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Thick double doors lay at the end, leading outside.

“Shit,” Reiner growls, shoving against the push bar on the door. “It’s locked.” He gives it an experimental kick; the steel bends but the door doesn't open. “I don’t think I can break through.”

“Well, how did the others get out?” Jean asks, looking increasingly alarmed.

“I don't know! Maybe they went another way.”

Suddenly Jean freezes, cocking his head in the direction of the halls, going pale. “They’ve brought the dogs out,” he warns a second before a high-pitched baying reverberates through the halls.

I look frantically for a way out, narrowing in on a small window above the door. We might be able to fit through that. “What about up there?”

Reiner steps back to study it. “Yeah… Yeah, that could work. Give me a boost, Marco.”

I crouch under the window, cupping my hands and boosting him up when he steps on them. Grabbing onto the windowsill, he holds himself up with his forearm, feet searching for traction on the smooth door.

I don’t hear the dogs anymore. They must be spread throughout the facility now to track us down.

“Come on, Reiner,” Jean says, the calmness of his voice at odds with the way he anxiously bounces on his toes.

Reiner breaks the reinforced glass with a hardened fist, brushing the shards away. “Alright, wait a sec, I’ll try to open it from the outside” he says, climbing through. He’s barely able to fit his shoulders through the narrow opening.

A few seconds later, a loud bark rings out alarmingly close, followed by scrabbling feet against the slippery tile.

“We don’t have time to wait- I’ll boost you,” I say to Jean, eyes darting to the huge German Shepherd that turns the corner, rapidly approaching- even their dogs are tac-vested.

Jean looks like he wants to object but I fix a glare on him and he lets me boost him up without complaint before hauling himself through the window.

Jean stretches a hand down to me and I jump, taking it, pumping my wings a few times to aid me. He helps pull me up, and once I get my elbows on the windowsill he drops down to give me space.

Suddenly, a heavy weight attaches itself to my ankle and my bones grind together when sharp teeth clamp down on my ankle.

“Shit,” I choke out, hands slipping.

“Marco?” Jean asks, alarmed.

I yelp as it drags me down and I lose my grip on the windowsill. I drop painfully to the ground, barely getting my hands under me in time to cushion my fall, rolling onto my back before it’s on me again.

The dog takes its chance to get a better grip on my leg and I grimace as it digs its canines into my calf, shaking its head like it would a small animal to break its neck.

Choking back a cry, I try to grab at its jaws to dislodge it but it drags me forward, tearing deeper into my leg. I've worked up quite the pain tolerance after months with Hangi but this is… less than pleasant.

It jerks me forward again, sending me onto my back with a wince. I kick at its nose but it only bites down harder, snarling and unfazed. 

I hear a shout down the hall, and I see who must be the dog’s owner (handler?), call behind him for reinforcements, taking his _real_ gun out of its holster to aim in my direction, and I can feel my heart take a nose-dive to my feet.

Guns look the same in real life as they do in the movies, but the film fails to capture the air of danger, of _stay away._ Having one pointed at me awakes a deep-rooted terror in me and, despite the fact that I’m currently being _mauled_ , I stop my kicking and duck behind the dog, hoping he won’t risk shooting his shepherd.

Predictably, now that I’m an easy target, it leaps forward and its paws scratch my chest. I push against its neck, hooking my fingers through a loop in its vest to keep the gnashing teeth as far from my face as I can.

Suddenly, light spills into the hallway, and the dog yelps as it gets pulled off of me by an invisible force, sending it sliding down the hall. The soldier curses and sends a shot over my head.

“Marco! Hurry!”

I scramble to my feet, keeping my head ducked and practically diving out of the now-open door, not caring that I’m probably getting glass in my shoes. Reiner slams the heavy door shut behind me, just in time for another bullet to ricochet off it with a _ping._

Now, in the sudden heat and looking around and the large stretch of orange-dusted concrete, I have time to register that my leg _hurts like hell._

“Oh shit,” Jean says, looking at my shredded pant leg, blood beginning to stain it.

“It’s fine, I’ll heal,” I brush off, ignoring the fact that it certainly doesn't _feel_ fine.

“Well good, because we’ve got to go,” Reiner interjects, looking around nervously. “The hanger with the cars is over there-” he points to the aircraft carrier hanger to our right, a little less than a quarter-mile stretch of bare ground between us and it, “but I don’t know where the others are.”

As if on cue, the muffled _bangs_ of dozens of distant gunshots ring out, and a moment later the hanger's wide door begins to tilt upward with a mechanical groan. As soon as it’s high enough, a military-grade Humvee bursts through the narrow opening, the roof clipping the door, followed by a smaller, erratically swerving hummer.

“There’s our ride,” Reiner says, gawking at them for a moment before taking off in a sprint to meet them in the middle of the field. Jean and I rush to follow.

I try to hide my limp, the adrenaline making it easy to push through the pain, but I can’t ignore the way I’m dripping blood on the concrete with every step I take. I would fly if it weren't for the fact that there must be snipers around here that wouldn't hesitate to shoot me out of the sky.

Speaking of which, where are they? My eyes dart around the outside of the facility; I don’t see any soldiers save for the ones who are now pooling out of the hanger, guns raised but too far away to be accurate. Hopefully.

The smell of burning rubber distracts me, and I turn to see the Humvee screech violently to a stop about ten feet in front of us, so fast that I’m scared it’s going to keep sliding and run us over. What a way to go.

It doesn't, though, and Connie kicks the back door open. “Come on!”

We don’t need to be told twice. We pile in, and Connie slams the door closed just as the first bullets reach us. I yelp, ducking, but they ricochet harmlessly off the windows. Bulletproof, ain’t that lucky. 

“Hold on!” Eren warns from the front seat, slamming his foot on the gas.

All of us in the trunk are immediately thrown backward, and I grunt as my back hits the metal truck bed. Armin- apparently he’s here too, and Jean fall half on top of me, spluttering when they get a face full of feathers. I wince when a stray foot kicks my bad leg.

“Hold on, we're letting _Jaeger_ drive?” Jean shouts incredulously, righting himself and lunging forward to grab onto one of the seats for dear life.

“I’d like to see you do better!” Eren retorts, swerving like a maniac and suddenly jerking the wheel to the right, jostling us again. 

I peek my head over one of the seats to see out the windshield, holding onto the headrest so hard that my knuckles go white. I notice that even Mikasa in the passenger seat is clenching the grab bars on the ceiling like Mamá did when I was first starting to drive- except I was trying to parallel park, not run from the government.

Eren is driving full-full speed towards the electric gate marking the perimeter of the facility. I can’t see the top of the guard towers from this angle but I’m sure there are snipers with their guns trained on us, I can hear the pang of metal hitting metal like an angry rainstorm against the sides of the Humvee as they continue to shoot. It’s only a matter of time before they manage to hit a tire.

“Brace yourselves,” Eren warns, ramming the gate with a _crash_. My heart jumps to my throat when we catch on the wire, the gate half-collapsed under the Humvee, but our back wheels spin uselessly in the air. We’re stuck. So much for a dramatic exit.

Eren spews out a line of curses, hands hovering over the controls, looking lost. “How the hell do you reverse this thing!?”

Whoever is driving the hummer behind us- probably Ymir- honks angrily as they’re forced to stop.

“Not helping!” Eren shouts as if she can hear him.

One of the windows crack under the relentless bullets and there's a collective flinch in the Humvee.

“That lever right there!” I say, pointing at the stick shift in the center console. 

“Where?” Eren asks, looking panicky.

“Uh, guys,” Jean starts, staring out the right window. “We’ve got two on our tail.” Sure enough, two army-beige hummers lurch out of the hanger, growling engines adding to the already overwhelming cacophony of noise. 

Eren finally finds the stick shift, but ends up setting us in park.

I curse, crawling over the back row of seats, falling painfully on my leg and rushing up to the driver's chair, practically pushing Eren into Mikasa’s lap and taking his spot.

I don't have time to take in all the unfamiliar buttons and switches so I grab the huge steering wheel, moving the stick shift to _R_ and slamming my foot down on the gas, hoping for the best. I've never been happier that I learned to drive in Mamá’s ratty old 2009 Tacoma- who even uses stick shifts anymore? We lurch backward and the gate whines under us before snapping with a _crack_ , falling flat against the desert dirt.

“Go go gogogogo,” Connie shouts with increasing urgency. I don’t spare a look behind me, I know they must be almost on top of us.

I slam the gas pedal to the ground and the Humvee skids in place with a screech of tires before taking off with a rumble of its overworked engine. Not the fanciest exit, but it works. The others follow behind us and a second later the two other hummers crash through, trailing after us.

I gun it down the dirt road, desert stretching out on all sides, dust and grit clinging to the windshield. 

“We need to get to a populated road,” I say with forced calm, keeping my eyes fixed on the path in front of me, the throbbing in my leg beginning to come back for vengeance. “They probably won’t chase us where people can see- we’re supposed to be a secret after all."

“Hey, who’s dripping blood everywhere?” Connie asks. I spare a glance behind me to find Connie curling his lip at his shoe- he must have stepped in some.

“That would be Marco,” Jean says, suddenly right behind me, hands grabbing the backrest to steady himself. “Who _really_ shouldn't be driving right now.”

I don't really have anything to defend myself. They all know that I’m the only one here that can drive worth crap- even if I’m not used to the car being so _tall._ Seriously, we’re like two meters above the ground. I shoot a look at the rear-view mirror, confirming that Ymir is indeed driving the hummer, drifting from side to side a bit drunkenly but otherwise staying on course. Hopefully she can keep that up.

The shots have stopped and the two other hummers aren't doing anything aggressive, just borderline tailgating us. I anxiously try to see through their windshield’s but the glare is too bright.

I force myself to take deep breaths. We got through the worst of it but we aren’t free yet.

Oh shit. I don’t know where I’m going. “Was anyone able to grab the map?” 

Armin gasps as he remembers. “I did, actually.” I hear the rustle of fabric as he digs around in his pack before pulling out a wrinkled but otherwise unharmed map of Arizona. He unfolds the map and squints at it, trying to hold it straight in the unsteady humvee. “I’m pretty sure we’re going west right now-” he cranes his neck to see the position of the sun out of one of the windows, “it’s not detailed enough to show any nearby roads, but if we go southwest for a little while we should come across one leading to a place called Tuba City.”

“Let's do that then.” No one objects.

If we can get there, we might be able to lose our pursuers-

Aw crap. “There’s probably trackers in here, huh?”

“Actually I already took them out,” Armin says. Eren, opting to share the (frankly oversized) passenger seat with Mikasa, holds up two cracked-open plastic boxes with wires hanging out of them as evidence.

“Oh.” I blink. “Cool.”

But then I remember another, less fixable, problem- nothing can be easy. This giant military-grade Humvee probably isn't street-legal, and the last thing we need is to get pulled over.

“What is it?” Jean asks, seeing the pinched expression come over my face. “Does your leg hurt?”

I shake my head, holding back a sigh. “It’s nothing.”

We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, right now our immediate threat is the two hummers, and I doubt those are the last things they’re going to send after us.

For now, we’ll head straight for Tuba city- and then maybe Flagstaff, and we’ll see where we go from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be adding more tags as I go, btw (I can't stop messing with them and the summary, someone please take them away from me). 
> 
> I took the estimated chapter count off because I revised my outline and somehow added 9 chapters, which could change again. This is a cry for help. Right now I'm thinking it's gonna clock in around 110-140k words.
> 
> I almost didn't get this chapter out today because instead of writing yesterday I read a super sad fic and cried for half an hour instead of being productive. (If you somehow haven't read it already and want your heart broken, read Oblivion by southspinner- or don't and keep reading this.)
> 
> Comments give me life and are greatly appreciated! Thank you and goodnight.
> 
> *No dogs were harmed in the making of this chapter*


	9. Walk my days on a wire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst, I made a Spotify playlist [Here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6wD1fDixONJQrPIk3Vzfqn?si=WLeDmRmXTQCT67G6qrlWnw) (though, warning, it doesn't make a new tab, at least not on the computer)

**6:15 pm, September 5th, 2022**

**Marco Bodt**

The next few hours are filled with tense silence. 

Eren fidgets on one of only four seats in the Humvee, unspoken tension curled into his shoulders. On his opposite side is Jean, who is furiously avoiding everyone’s eyes. Armin replaced Mikasa in the passenger seat and hasn't taken his eyes off the road since, absorbing every single detail of the outside world, and Connie has kept his eyes firmly on the others behind us and the two hummers now trailing us from about half a mile down the road. He sometimes tugs at the dead shock collar sitting around his throat- I think we’ve all forgotten about them for now, Reiner can break them off later.

I rub my neck absentmindedly- I hadn't realized how used to the cold metal weight I had gotten until it came off. In one way at least, I finally feel like I can relax again, not having the constant threat of getting electrocuted hanging over my head like a guillotine blade. Not that there's anything relaxing about my current situation.

A few other civilian cars have passed us, but not enough to make me think that SURVEY won’t try something out here. So far I’ve been right that they don’t want the news getting out that we escaped, or that we even existed, but they _have_ to be planning something- they can’t just follow us forever.

My eyes dart down to examine my leg for what must be the third time this minute; I’m a little concerned. I’m pretty sure the bleeding has stopped, but, if anything, it only hurts more. I can’t see the wound clearly through the holes in my pant leg, but it doesn’t look as healed as I would expect by now. Luckily, it’s my left leg so I don’t need it for driving, so it just hangs uselessly off the seat while I try to keep as much pressure as possible off of it. 

We lurch over a bump, sending a spark of pain shooting up my leg. I suck in a breath through my teeth.

“You look pale, does it hurt?” Jean asks, suddenly at my shoulder. I almost jump. I hadn't noticed him hovering. He pulls a face. “Sorry, of course it hurts, that was stupid to ask.”

I do wish he’d stop saying that.

“I’ll be fine,” I assure, waving it off. Jean doesn't look like he believes me, but doesn’t call me out on it.

Apparently the broken silence was the last straw for Eren. I watch him stand in the rearview mirror, squaring his shoulders.

_Oh boy, here we go._

“You gonna tell us what the fuck that was Jean?” 

Usually, I’d welcome a distraction, but I can tell Eren is about to start something which I _really_ don’t need right now- Jean can never seem to reign in his words around Eren.

Jean stays silent, and I glance behind me to see him gripping the back of my chair with white knuckles, staring resolutely at the floor.

“Well?” Eren continues, taking a step forward. “We could’ve _died_ out there, just because you decided to suddenly make a run for it. You gonna explain yourself? Because it’s not looking great from over here!”

“Guys…” I warn, sighing. I want answers as much as anyone else, but I trust Jean, he wouldn't endanger us on a whim. I shoot a look at Mikasa, she just blankly watches them- she must be pissed too.

“We had to go, okay?” Jean mutters, looking down at his feet, uncharacteristically subdued.

Eren isn’t convinced. 

“I don’t know if you know this, but Sasha had to _kill_ someone, and it really fucked her up.”

Jean blanches at that, finally meeting Eren’s eyes. “I _had_ to-“

“ _Bullshit,”_ Eren snarls, grabbing him roughly by the collar. A spark of anger ignites in Jean’s eyes and he grits his teeth.

“Not _now,”_ I say, clutching at the steering wheel. _Or I swear I will turn this car around_ , I say in my head. I’m hilarious. I don’t say that out loud purely because I know no one will get it. “You guys are _not_ getting into a fistfight in here.” If I wasn't so nice I might jerk us to the right to send them stumbling.

Eren pays me no heed, but for a moment it looks like Jean is going to step down, because he lowers his voice as says, “we all made it out, that's the most important thing.”

“Out?” Eren scoffs. “You call this _out?_ We can’t keep driving forever, there's no way in hell they’re just going to give up. _Fuck,_ they have helicopters, they can track us anywhere!” 

Jean’s hands tighten to fists and he steps back, angling his body away from Eren. “Jean, _don’t,”_ I plead. “This is stupid.”

Jean looks my way and his expression wavers.

“What, you’re just going to step back because _he_ told you too? Will you just follow anyone’s orders? We still need answers, Jean!”

I don’t know what triggers it, but suddenly Jean’s fist is connecting with Eren’s cheek and then they’re in an all-out brawl, hissing and spitting like a pair of alley-cats. I can only imagine what this looks like from the outside.

“ _Jesus Christ_ guys,” Connie groans. 

Me too Connie, me too. He tries to come between them but Jean pushes him out of the way. Connie looks back at me despairingly. 

Shit. I glance in the rearview mirror; the hummers are still far down the road. What the hell. I slam on the brakes, roughly pulling over onto the side of the road, sending Eren and Jean stumbling forward.

Mikasa suddenly seems to have had enough and launches herself out of her seat, but before she can reach the pair, one of them hits the door handle, sending them sprawling out of the Humvee. 

“Guys!” Armin shouts.

I bite my lip, checking the side mirror for any incoming cars but seeing none. I stumble out of the driver’s seat, climbing over the center console just in time for Eren to spit something that I can’t make out through the other’s shouting, making Jean freeze, a look of hurt coming over his face before turning into one of pure, unbridled, _anger._

“They were going to _kill_ you guys, okay!?” He yells, blocking a kick with his elbow.

Eren recoils so fast that it’s almost funny. “Huh?” The others are pulling over behind us now, demanding to know why we stopped.

“Yeah, _dipshit._ They said they were going to ‘relocate’ me and that I _shouldn't worry about the rest of you”._

Even Mikasa freezes. Honestly, I’m not all that surprised, it doesn't seem out of character for them to decide to kill us, but for what reason I don’t know. Then again, I wasn't there all those years so I’m not feeling any of that betrayal they must be feeling.

“You- you don’t know that they were going to kill us,” Eren says, pointing at Jean accusingly. The others wear varying degrees of shock and betrayal on their faces too, and Sasha gapes from where she's hanging out of the passenger-side window of the hummer. “Who knows,” Eren continues, leaning forward and voice darkening. “Maybe they were sending you away to kill _you.”_

I’m going to get whiplash just watching this exchange. Anger bubbles up within me. How _dare_ he say that-

“Hey!” Connie barks, interrupting whatever it was I was going to say- or do- to defend Jean. “That was uncalled.” 

Jean doesn’t even blink. “That's what I thought too, but then he said they were going to _focus their efforts on me,_ so it seems pretty obvious they were going to keep me alive.”

Wait- Jean thought they were going to kill him?

“The _Commander_ said that?” Eren asks incredulously, the fight suddenly leaving his posture. “And Levi was _okay_ with it?”

“No, I think that's why he gave us the information in the first place,” he clarifies, taking a step back. “There's no other reason why he would.”

This conversation is revealing and all, but I’m a little worried about SURVEY. Actually, scratch that, I’m more than a little worried. I step on the foot-hold on the side of the hummer with my good leg, boosting myself to see over the roof. The two SURVEY hummers have suddenly been joined by a third, and have stopped half a mile down the road, quickly becoming shadowed in the dimming light. I involuntarily shudder. I know they're watching us. 

Luckily, there’s a gas station a mile down in perfect view due to the flat ground, so hopefully the threat of civilian eyes will stop them from trying anything. Then again, nighttime darkness is quickly falling over the desert which will blow any cover we have. 

A car drives by and I duck behind the hummer so they can’t see my wings.

“So we _had_ to leave, okay? Is it that hard for you to believe me?”

Eren furrows his eyebrows and looks at the ground with a slight frown.

I would get on Eren for not apologizing if it weren't for the fact that right at that very moment a stabbing pain erupts in my leg, sending my knee buckling.

“ _Shit,”_ I hiss, tears pin-pricking in the corner of my eyes. I manage to grab the side of the hummer so I don’t fall, but even lifting my leg limply off the ground doesn't sate the fire burning in the teeth marks.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Jean rushes to my side, hands hovering like he’s not sure what to do, fight with Eren momentarily forgotten. At least my pain is good for something.

“Yeah,” I grunt. “It’ll heal.” I shake my leg a bit like it will magically fix it. It doesn't.

“Well you're kind of doing a shit job.” _Thanks Jean._

“Shouldn't it be better by now?” Connie asks nervously, looking to Armin like he knows the answers. Armin seems to just now be noticing what's going on, too wrapped up in consoling Eren.

“What the hell happened?” Ymir asks, kicking open the driver-side door and rounding the hummer to join us.

“One of the guard dogs got him,” Jean answers for me. I nod in confirmation, biting my lip painfully, a grimace coming over my face.

“You aren't driving anymore,” Jean decides after giving me a once-over.

“But-”

“No, he’s right,” Armin interjects. “It's been hours, I don't think it should still be hurting with that healing of yours. You need to stay in the back so I can fix it.”

Jean nods. “Come on, we can’t stay he-” he pauses, perking his head up like a dog who heard a whistle.

“Wha-”

Suddenly, a powerful _boom_ rings out across the desert and one of the back tires of the hummer bursts, air whistling out of it.

“Shit, they've got the snipers!”

There's another shot and the other tire is punctured too.

Reiner slams open the side door of the Humvee. “Hurry up, get in! The hummer’s useless now!”

“Fuck,” Jean mutters under his breath, jumping through the now open door, grabbing my arm and pulling me up. I stumble in, bypassing the seats and crouching in the trunk area (or, as well as I can crouch, it’s more like sitting on my good leg), making room for the others. It’s a tight fit, but it’ll have to do.

Annie presses a palm to the back window, peering through, her eyes widening. “Go,” she barks, snapping her head towards Ymir who’s now in the driver's seat.

I crane my neck to see through the glass, squinting against the sudden brightness of quickly approaching headlights. Wait- headlights?

The Humvee violently jerks forward and I barely keep myself from falling over- they really need seatbelts in these things.

Jean grabs my shoulder, which might be to help steady me but I think it's more to steady himself. Ymir jerks the Humvee back onto the road, the three SURVEY hummers suddenly less than thirty feet behind us. 

A bullet pings off of what sounds like the bumper outside and I flinch. If they hit a tire we’re screwed.

They slow down when we tear past the gas station, but Ymir doesn't. “Let them see, hell if I care.”

We manage to escape with four intact tires, and soon they’re back to the same distance as before, but my heart won’t calm down, only making the throbbing in my leg worse. I lean against the back of one of the last chairs, sweat pricking at my neck.

To add to my discomfort, there's no comfortable position to put my wings. I can’t fold them behind me because they're too big, but spreading them out is out of the question, so I settle for half-folding them in front of me, the longer feathers bending against the ground, but I can deal with it.

“Jesus,” Jean sighs, falling back against the wall of the Humvee. He rubs a hand over his face. “Sorry.”

I tilt my head. “For what?”

“We only stopped because of me.” 

“ _Oh,_ no, I-it’s okay. Besides I don’t think I’m the one you should be apologizing to.” I gesture to Annie who is shooting a glare that could stop a bear in its tracks at the floor between her feet. 

Jean pales. “... I’ll let Eren take care of that one.”

“They’re backing off,” Connie comments, peering through the back window. He receives a couple of grunts in reply.

“Reiner,” Ymir says, tilting her head towards him without taking her eyes off the road. “Can you get Historia’s muzzle off? We couldn’t.”

I flick my eyes to Historia- does she still have that thing on?

“Yeah, of course,” Reiner says. I watch him fiddle with the locking device before he just pinches it and shatters the metal completely.

Historia shakes her hair free of the shards and delicately pulls the muzzle off, stretching out her jaw after it was kept closed for who knows how long. She blinks once, twice, three times.

“Wow,” she rasps, voice gravelly after what must be years of non-use. She looks different without the muzzle- really different. Objectively, she’s quite pretty, but she’s- y'know, not exactly my type.

I’ve barely seen the bottom of her face before, only the few times they’d let her take it off to eat (usually she’d drink the protein smoothies through a straw threaded through one of the air-holes) and when they’d put her in the wire muzzle to swim. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I’d seen her without it the first day I was there, when I first woke up, but that whole memory is pretty fuzzy in my head. I’d rather not remember it, anyway.

Ymir looks awe-struck, and she almost swerves us off the road because she’s too busy staring at her.

“Don’t crash us!” Eren yelps.

A tentative smile graces Historia’s lips. “Eyes on the road,” she tells Ymir playfully after clearing her throat. Ymir snorts and complies, but I can see her biting back a grin.

“Yeah, yeah, keep it in your pants,” Connie teases, ever the ruiner of moments.

I turn from them when Armin stands from one of the seats and steps over Bertholdt’s long legs, gripping the back of the chair for support and leaning down next to Jean and I in the back of the truck with Connie, Sasha, and Annie- who has yet to take her eyes off of the SURVEY vehicles.

“Let's see your leg.”

I semi-reluctantly stretch my leg in front of me, and Jean shuffles back to give me space. I tug my pant leg up by the ankle, trying to keep the fabric from grazing against the bite mark- or three bite marks now that I’m looking at it. 

Armin winces sympathetically and Jean stiffens.

I’ll admit, it… doesn't look great. Two of the bites are almost overlaid on top of each other at different angles, but the other is dug into my ankle. No wonder it hurt so bad to walk. It doesn't look like any tendons are broken at least. Two of the sets of bite marks look relatively clean, and I can clearly see the imprint of each individual tooth, still crusted in blood, but the other one is much more ragged and each puncture must have torn into each other when it shook its head because it turned into two jagged lines.

My stomach does a flip just looking at it. Jean wrinkles his nose- he can probably smell the blood.

The bleeding has stopped, at least, but other than that it doesn't look all that healed- in fact, it looks pretty inflamed, and a greenish-purple bruise is already beginning to span my entire calf.

“I’m going to touch it,” Armin warns. After I nod he lightly presses two fingers next to one of the worst gashes. Jean and I watch him anxiously as a weird look crosses his face.

“Well? Are you gonna heal him or not?”

“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, Jean,” Armin says slowly, taking his hand away. “I’m scared that it got infected. It feels pretty hot.”

Jean blinks at him. “So? Can’t you just like-” he wiggles his fingers- “magic it away?”

A pinched look comes over his face and he shakes his head, rocking with the bounce of the Humvee. “I can’t _cure_ infections like that. I don’t know why, but I can only stitch together flesh and bone and stuff like that- but if I did that now, I might trap the infection inside of you, which would only make it worse. So if you're not in any danger of bleeding out… It would probably be better to leave it as is.” He leaves it hanging, casting his eyes to the side.

“Soo you're saying you can’t help,” I clarify, biting my lip. Armin slowly nods. “... Okay.”

Jean splutters, looking at me in disbelief. “ _Okay?_ What if it gets worse! Sorry to say, but you aren't doing a great job healing right now, and what if-”

“Jean. It’s _okay._ I’ll be fine, it’s probably too busy fighting off the infection to heal right now, so it might just take a while.”

He looks at me dubiously. “Yeah, I _really_ don’t think that's how this works.”

“I-It’s okay guys, we can find some antibiotics or something- we’ll figure something out.”

At that moment, Eren pokes his head over the seat behind me, half hanging over us.

“Hey guys- _ew,_ I don’t want to see that.”

“Then why are you looking?” Jean snaps. 

Eren lowers at him instead of shooting back his usual remark. The sudden tension in the air is almost palpable- I never thought I’d miss their bickering, but this silence is worse.

He clears his throat, turning pointedly to Armin and me, ignoring Jean. “ _Anyway,_ Ymir wants to know where the hell we’re going.”

Armin suddenly looks uncomfortable now that half of the Humvee’s eyes are on him, obviously eavesdropping on our conversation. “Well, we were going to head southwest for a while and head to a populated place called Tuba City to try to shake SURVEY- does Ymir know which way southwest is?”

“No,” she shouts from the front.

Armin leaves to explain to her about the position of the sun signaling the direction, but I’m distracted when Jean pulls the key from his pocket. He looks at me questioningly, silently asking me something along the lines of either: _Should I tell them?_ Or: _Should we trust Dr. Ral?_

Whatever the question was, I nod firmly as a resolute _yes._ I don’t think she was trying to set us up, and she was right, as long as we can get SURVEY off our trail we will need a place to lay low for a while.

Jean sighs like it wasn't the answer he wanted, but comes to half-stand anyway, holding the key up for the rest of the Humvee to see. “Dr. Ral gave me a key to her house.”

The Humvee goes silent. Armin pauses, and Ymir cranes her neck unattractively to see. “Huh?”

Mikasa snatches the key from his hand, bringing it close to her face and squinting at it. “Looks real.”

“How would you know?” Eren says, grabbing it and squinting at it in the same way. I can see Jean physically bite back a comment that was probably something along the lines of _and you would?_

“Do we trust it?” 

I turn towards Sasha, surprised. This is the first I’ve heard of her this whole time, she’s been uncharacteristically mellow. My eyebrows shoot up when a glint of metal reveals that she has a handgun tucked in her waistband- she must've gotten it back at the facility.

Jean opens his mouth but no words come out.

“I do.”

All eyes turn to Armin. “I- I mean, it’s Dr. _Ral_ , she doesn't seem like one to purposely betray us.”

Silence befalls the Humvee for a long moment, the only exception is the low rumble of the engine and the gritty sound of the tires on the road.

Ymir heavily breaths out. “...Let's think about it. Where is it anyway?”

Silence broken, Armin pulls out the map again and studies it. “It's in Flagstaff, so right… here.” He turns to me, whispering, “how long would this take us?”

I squint at it. “If I’m going from Tuba City then probably about… two hours?” I’m totally guesstimating. “But that's not counting traffic.”

“But even if we do go there, we need to lose _them_ first,” Reiner says, flicking his thumb towards the back window. I nod.

“Traffic?” Ymir asks. It takes me a moment to realize she’s being serious- of _course_ she’s being serious. I barely refrain from pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Y’know, you _really_ shouldn't be driving, let me-”

“Nuh-uh,” Jean interrupts, pushing me back down. “You aren't moving until you fix your leg.”

“But-”

“It’s alright Marco,” Ymir says, voice unnaturally cheery. “If I crash and kill all of us you're free to say ‘I told you so’.”

“No one is crashing anything,” Armin says firmly. “But Jean is right, Marco, we don’t want your leg to get worse.”

I sigh but fall against the back of the chair anyway. I can’t really say no to Armin- or Jean, for that matter.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Reiner takes over Ymir’s spot in the driver’s seat a few hours after night falls (we’d all decided that Eren should no longer be allowed to drive), and the rest of the Humvee’s occupants settle down for the night, the lucky ones getting the relatively comfortable seats and the rest of us the hard metal floor that vibrates with every complaint of the engine and pebble we run-over.

Jean had tried to make me take one of the seats because I’m hurt, but I managed to convince him I’d be better off on the floor so I can keep my leg flat and because chairs aren't the most comfortable with my wings anyway. It took months but I’m finally figuring out how to be a stomach sleeper.

We’d gotten a scare an hour ago when a police car suddenly appeared, I was sure we’d get pulled over, but SURVEY must have special clearance or something because he drove straight past us- but I doubt we’d be that lucky on the populated streets of a city, in fact, I don’t know if we’d even _fit_ on a road that's not straight, wide and mostly deserted like this one.

The thing that worries me, though, is that there’s only one hummer following us now, and no one saw where the other two went.

We’re still in the desert, but I feel like we should have hit civilization by now. Lights bleach the horizon line grey, but the stars are still clear overhead, indicating that we have a while to go until any big cities. Despite everyone around me, I feel really… alone.

I think I finally get what Jean meant all those months ago on the balcony, about how the vastness of the stars make him feel insignificant. If it didn't run the risk of me getting my head blown off by a bullet, I’d lower the windows and stick my face out, just to feel the rapidly-cooling night air.

I feel my eyes wet against my will. No, not now. I am _not_ crying in a vehicle crammed with people.

Jean is curled up next to me, facing the wall and using his backpack as a pillow. I’m still leaning against the seat that Eren is currently snoring in. My leg is hurting too much to even think about sleep, but I didn't tell anyone that because I know it would only stress Jean out even more, and he doesn't need that. I can tell that he still feels guilty about today, even though he really shouldn't be, it sounds like that without him, we’d be dead or getting there.

The Humvee jolts as it hits a pothole and I wince as the pain in my leg throbs to life once again. 

Stupid dog (Actually, it was just doing what it was told so I guess I shouldn't blame the dog. Stupid SURVEY. Yeah, that's better). With nothing else to focus on and the day’s chaos weighing heavy on me, the wound is only hurting worse.

I rummage through my backpack as quietly as I can, not wanting to disturb the peace, sliding out my water bottle and taking a swig. 

Geez, we are _lucky_ that Sasha somehow warned us to pack earlier, or else we would've had to leave with nothing but the clothes on our backs- it is also quite convenient that they gave each of us a backpack to carry our stuff into the training room, without those and the piles of food Sasha somehow got her hands on, we’d have to had have stopped by now lest we starve to death- although, we’ll have to stop tomorrow anyway, I’m thinking everyone will have to use a proper bathroom soon, the side of the road can only work for so long.

I stare at the night sky through the back window, little cracks and shatters caused by the bullets disrupting the view.

The roads suddenly seem foreign to me. It’s only been what? Six months since I got taken and my life was flipped on its head, yet everything seems so… different. So alien.

I’ve always liked road trips, but going on a road trip with your team of a dozen superpowered young adults to escape the military is… something else.

When I was a kid we used to go on road trips to Arizona to visit family before they moved out-of-state, and we would always leave late, after dark, and I’d fall asleep in the car, watching the landscape go by, and suddenly wake up in my bed at home after Dad had carried me from the car. 

The desert at night had a serene kind of _peace_ to it. It still _has_ that feeling now, but it brings little comfort. Those trips feel like a lifetime ago, and I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for the others, especially Reiner, Annie, and Bertholdt who must have _no_ memories of the outside world, to see this little glimpse for the first time- it's hardly short of a miracle that Reiner was able to pick up driving so fast. 

I sigh, resting my chin on my knee, feeling the rumble of the engine. My jaw is already prickly. I need to shave. Sasha seems to be the only other one awake, sitting propped up against the wall, picking at her fingernails, a glazed look over her eyes.

“Can’t sleep?”

She jolts. “Uh- yeah,” she answers, but the words tumble out clumsily.

I straighten, angling myself towards her. This must be about today- what Eren said. I’m not sure if she’s a talker or not- when it comes to her feelings, at least, but there's only one way to find out.

“... Do you want to talk about it?”

She sniffs, tears suddenly springing in her eyes. Guess I got my answer.

“S-sorry, I just-” her voice breaks off.

“Hey, hey, It’s okay,” I say softly, moving towards her, taking care not to disrupt my leg too much.

“No, no it’s not,” she whispers, voice wobbling with each syllable. “I _killed_ that guy, he- he-” tears are starting to flow freely now. “He was just doing his job, he probably had a _family,_ he might've been _married_ o-or had kids, and I _shot him.”_

I don’t have a response to that, but she carries on before I can construct one anyway.

“Every time I blink, I-I see it. He grabbed Connie so I just _shot-_ even though I knew I wouldn’t miss, but I- I still did it.” Her eyes glisten in the soft, very soft moonlight leaking through the windows.

“You were just doing what you had to do, he knew the risks of his job,” I say quietly, I doubt she’d appreciate it if I woke everyone up. I legitimately can’t tell if I'm making things better or worse.

“B-but I shouldn't have to be a _risk,_ I’m a nineteen-year-old girl for God's sake, and- and I _killed him._ There's something _wrong_ with me- that's why we were there, right? _”_

I pause. She’s absolutely right, about the first part at least. She _shouldn't_ have to be a ‘risk’. But there can't be more wrong with the second statement.

“Sasha, listen to me, there's _nothing_ wrong with you, you were protecting Connie,” I say firmly, pulling myself beside her and forcing her to look me in the eyes. “And our Deviances aren't something _wrong_ with us, we're just... different, that’s all. What's _wrong_ was how they treated us like science experiments instead of human beings.”

She looks at her feet, mouth wobbling. She squeezes her eyes shut, forcing a tear out.

 _Oh Sasha._ I’m on the verge of tears just watching her. Mina always made fun of me for being so empathetic, sure, it can be embarrassing to cry at kids movies, but it’s times like these I think it’s a strength. “Come here.”

She gladly accepts my offer, burying her face in my shoulder and wrapping her arms around my chest, silent sobs racking her body. I rub her back, resting my chin in her hair, and she just clutches at my shirt tighter. I wince when she accidentally jostles my leg but I don't let her see it.

My attention drifts to the side, drinking in the darkened space before I accidentally lock eyes with Annie, who I was _sure_ was asleep. My hand on Sasha’s back stills. Annie stares at me for a long second, before she lazily slides her eyes shut, turning away from me, and my hand gradually resumes its movements. Sasha didn't seem to notice my faltering.

She scares me, though I don't know why.

After a few minutes she calms down, slowly pulling away from my now wet shirt, peeling hair from her cheeks where they got stuck with tears. “T- thanks,” she says with what might be an embarrassed laugh. “I needed that.”

I shoot her a small smile. “Of course.”

She wipes her nose. “I- I'm going to try to sleep. Busy day today, right?” She chuckles, a little forcibly. 

I smile. “Okay Sasha.”

I migrate back to my original spot, keeping a good foot between Jean and I, who has yet to stir and is still facing the wall, knees curled to his chest and a hand under his head. His face is relaxed, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him, really (I try not to make a habit of staring at him in his sleep), and his chest softly rises and falls with each breath.

I should really stop staring before it gets creepy. Actually, I think it already is.

Jean’s eyes suddenly dart wildly around under his eyelids and he mumbles something. I pause. The tiny amount of light coming through the windows illuminates his face just enough for me to see him wrinkle his eyebrows, lips moving soundlessly. 

He must be dreaming. I sit back, watching him intently. It would be real bad if he woke up right now.

His fist is clenched around the front of his shirt like a lifeline as he curls further into himself.

Is he still feeling guilty? It’s no secret that he’s plagued by nightmares- he’s hardly the only one- but I wonder what brought one on now.

His lips have stopped moving but the pinched expression is still on his face. He sighs in his sleep, his grip on his shirt loosening. A piece of ashy-blond hair has fallen over his eyes, and if I were any less of a man I might brush it back like this was some bad chick-flick, but it’s not and I haven't forgotten about the ten other potential pairs of eyes in this Humvee, the last thing I need is for them to get blackmail material on me.

So I fluff up my backpack as if it can possibly pass as a pillow and try to go to sleep.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

It must be gone past 2 am by this point and I’m starting to struggle to keep my eyes open, yet I can't quite fall into blissful unconsciousness. It must be the unholy combination of Eren’s snoring and Connie’s rather freaky sleep-mutterings keeping me awake, ignoring the fact that there is a bone-deep ache in my leg and that a metal truck bed is not exactly a memory foam mattress, but I digress. I've never been good at running on anything less than six hours of sleep so someone better come knock me out soon if I don't want to be even more miserable tomorrow.

Sasha seems to have fallen into a fitful sleep a while ago, so I try to follow her example, stuffing my face into my backpack and covering myself with my wings- at least I have my own makeshift blanket. 

My back is going to hurt like hell tomorrow. 

Eventually, I end up on my stomach, hugging my backpack and tucking my wings as close to me as possible as space is not readily available when twelve people are crammed in one measly Humvee- even Bertholdt is acrobatically sleeping with half his body up the wall, only his shoulders on the ground. Truly impressive, in all honesty.

I keep clear of Annie who is curled up under a sweatshirt at my feet, she scares me too much to even risk kicking her.

I know it’s the absolute last thing I should be worrying about right now, but I’m a sleep hugger, it’s a proven fact, so I hope with all my heart I don't wake up sprawled across half the Humvee, or, God forbid, accidentally latching onto someone. _Probably Jean, as he’s closest to you,_ my brain helpfully supplies. I tell it to shut up. I’ll never forget that fateful morning on my 8th grade trip to DC where we had to share beds, I don't think me and Milieus were ever the same again.

Eventually I fall into a doze, not quite asleep but not quite awake, the occasional cough or sneeze from someone jolting me awake back to consciousness. The rumble of the tires against the dirt road and the hum of the engine is oddly comforting, and so is the presence of the others around me.

If there's one thing I don't regret about this whole thing, it’s _them._

And laying here, staring at the back of Jean’s sleeping form through the darkness, I’m happy that I was able to meet him. There was at least one good thing to come out of this.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I don't dream, I’m too tired to dream, but when I blurrily blink my eyes open again the sky outside is purple, sunrise just under the horizon. No one else seems to be up yet, except, of course, whoever's driving right now. I don't feel like sitting up to look.

I nuzzle back into my backpack. There's really _no_ need to be up so early. 

I shift, my wings moving with me, but I furrow my eyebrows when I feel something… warm underneath one. _Wait._

I snap my eyes open.

They are decidedly _not_ folded at my back any longer; My left one is resting in the walkway between Sasha and I, but my _right_ one, I realize, face growing warm, is _totally_ blanketing Jean. They are large enough to cover almost his entire body and then some.

I quickly jerk it back- luckily, he doesn't stir and seems to still be asleep. Small miracles, I suppose. The last thing I need is for him to notice that I was…. Wing-hugging him? In my sleep? Is that a thing? Whatever, it doesn't matter- what matters is that he never knows about this.

I bring my wings even tighter against me than before. I have no doubt that my face is as red as a strawberry right now. 

**4:08 am, September 6th, 2022**

**Jean Kirstein**

I violently jerk awake, eyes flying open. Another fucking nightmare. I take a few steadying breaths, trying to calm my heart. I don't know what time it is, but it's still dark so I can’t have been asleep for long.

I fall back onto my backpack-pillow, when I suddenly register a _weight_ on top of me. I pull my brows together, craning my neck to see what the hell is on top of me. It's something black, white, and feathery. Oh.

Marco has obviously accidentally thrown a wing on top of me in his sleep. I press myself to the ground as if I’ll be able to melt straight through it. Could I move it without waking him up? Probably not. I’m sure he’d be embarrassed to know he’s done this. I poke at it, but he doesn't do anything but let out a little grumble before pressing his face deeper into his backpack. Despite myself, there's a little twinge of… _something_ in my stomach.

He’s so close that I could probably count his freckles if I wanted too. But I definitely don't want to.

I sigh, snorting a stray feather out of my face. Oh yeah. That. I should probably find a way to get it off me without waking him. But then again… they are kind of warm. I’ve always been susceptible to cold since my Deviance manifested. The AC is cranking hard so it is a little cold, it's basically a free blanket… No. No that's weird. Verging on creepy weird.

I shift, but before I can do anything, Marco sniffs in his sleep and curls the wing over me tighter. If it wasn't before, my face is definitely in flames now. Maybe I should just throw myself out of the window and let SURVEY get me. Yeah- that would be better than whatever _this_ is.

I bite my cheek, butterflies suddenly fluttering in my stomach. Why the hell does this have me feeling like those girls in those romance books Armin reads “just to study” and I read for absolutely no other reason than wanting to know what he’s talking about (Mikasa thinks we haven't seen her copping the occasional peek). 

This is _Marco,_ for God’s sake. Probably the nicest person I’ve ever met- not that I’ve met many people… or many nice ones. He’d probably freak out and spew apologies if he woke up right now.

… I’ll just wait to make sure that he’s _really_ asleep before extracting myself. Even if I’ll miss the warmth. I’ll lay here just for a little bit. For like five minutes. 

It wasn't just five minutes.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Aaaand I drifted off. The first thing I notice is that Marco is no longer beside me. The second I open my eyes I’m assaulted by sunlight streaming through the window, effectively blinding me. I groan, ever the graceful waker, rolling over.

I slap a hand over my eyes, cracking my fingers to see through them. Some of the others, including Marco, are already up and whispering. I can't see the front half of the vehicle from my position on the floor, but I can hear Ymir and what must be Historia murmuring what's probably disgustingly cute shit to each other. 

In all my years in SURVEY I’d only seen her fully without her muzzle twice; on Marco and Connie’s retrieval missions (she had to order Connie to slow the hell down so SURVEY could catch him while I watched uselessly from the sidelines), so I _guess_ I’m happy for Ymir to finally be able to kiss her as she’d always whined about wanting to.

“Good morning,” Marco says, smiling at me, sitting on the humps above the tire socket, eye level with one of the windows.

I _almost_ blush when I remember last night (Ha, _last night,_ now I really am one of the girls from Armin’s novels), but I valiantly refrain, instead letting out a grunt and closing my fingers back over my eyes.

He laughs, making no notion that he remembers the wing thing. I peek through my fingers again, watching suspiciously.

“Hey, sunrises aren't _that_ bad,” he says.

“ _Sunrise?”_ I gawk. “Jesus, how early is it?”

Marco shrugs. “I don't know, there's no clock in here- probably around five-thirty or six.”

“ _Five-thirty or si-”_ I trail off, sighing disparagingly. “Even Levi had the decency not to wake us till 6:45 most days.”

“Well I’m not Levi.”

_No Marco, you most certainly are not._

“You should look, they’re quite pretty,” Marco continues, gazing almost longingly out of the side window where the blasted streams of sunlight are filtering in from. My eyes flick to the left where Annie and Bertholdt practically have their faces pressed to the windows.

I quirk an eyebrow, doubtful. “...I’m more of a night person.”

I don't think he knows he’s doing it, but he makes these fucking puppy-dog eyes. 

“... Alright fine.”

He beams. I grumble to myself, pushing myself up, only stumbling a little as the humvee rocks. I grip onto the thin windowsill, peering through the glass.

For a second it’s too bright to see anything but a mix of oranges and yellows, but the more I squint the clearer it becomes. Alright... it’s not bad. I only remember one sunrise, when Levi made us stay up and outside all night for absolutely no reason other than he wanted to make us miserable, but I was more light-sensitive back then so I couldn't see much more than a bright blur.

“I've seen better.” Is all I say because I’m a jerk like that. Marco doesn't care though. 

He nods as if I said something quite thoughtful. “I don't think it beats the stars, but I’ve missed it these past few months.”

That's right. It’s been a whole six months since I helped kidnap him from his house. Not the best first meeting I’ll admit, but there doesn't seem to be any hard feelings, so I’ll take it.

“Well, you can see one every day now, if you want...” I internally wince. That was awkward.

He smiles at me, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “Yeah.”

I glare at the floor, kicking my feet, face suddenly hot. “S-so, uh- how's your leg?”

“Oh,” he says, smile falling from his face and averting his eyes down to his leg where it's stretched out in front of him. “It- um, started bleeding again but I pressed on it until it stopped.”

I stare at him. For someone so smart he can be an idiot sometimes. “... And you didn't tell anyone?”

He shrugs sheepishly. “The only ones awake were Mikasa and Ymir, who was driving, and I didn't want to wake anyone up.”

Okay, I _guess_ I can't blame him for not wanting to bother Mikasa. “You should’ve woken me up, I could've helped.” Could I have? Probably not. But it’s the thought that counts, right? That's what Dr. Ral always said, anyway.

He shifts and opens his mouth to say something, but suddenly flinches, eyes darting down to his wound.

A new stain of red blooms on his already blood-crusted regulation pants.

“Oops.”

“Umm,” I say eloquently. Yes, this is a great adult conversation we’re having here. It’s not my fault Levi never taught me how to deal with… _anything_ properly.

I glance at Armin, but find him asleep, curled up under one of his jackets in one of the seats with an impressive bed-head for not even sleeping in a bed. Mikasa is at his feet, nose buried in the scarf she never seems to go without and using his leg as a pillow. Armin looks too peaceful to wake and I’d really rather not invoke the wrath of Mikasa.

“It’s alright,” Marco says for me. “We don’t need to wake him up, I don’t think there's much he can do anyway.”

“You guys okay back there?” Historia whisper-shouts, voice still gravely.

“Yeah… We're fine.” I answer.

She looks dubious but goes back to her staring at Ymir. She can’t help either. I turn back to Marco. “We should probably, like, wrap it up or something before you start dripping blood everywhere again.”

“What is there to use?” Marco says, looking around for anything absorbent and semi-clean, predictably coming up short. 

“Uhh, here, we can use one of my shirts,” I say, already rummaging in my backpack. One less layer of padding for my “pillow”- whatever, it's for a good cause.

“N-no,” Marco objects. “Just use one of mine.”

I shoot him a _look._ “We can't ruin one of your fancy shirts, I don’t know much about the outside world, but I doubt they sell clothes with wing-holes on the street. Besides, these are _SURVEY_ uniform shirts, I won't miss it.”

I straighten, shirt in hand, ducking my head as the roof is just a little too short to comfortably stand under. “You should- uh, probably put on shorts or something, those pants are looking pretty gross.” I’m not wrong, they are, they're covered in blood and dirt, but he blushes anyway.

“Alright,” he says, shakily standing up and tucking his wings against his back, hobbling to his backpack. I watch him nervously, making sure he doesn't stumble when the Humvee inevitably lurches over a pothole.

He survives the entire four-foot stretch and starts to dig around in his backpack, sitting so he doesn't mess up his leg further. I awkwardly turn to give him some semblance of privacy, as much as he can get when twelve people are crammed into a tiny space like this, at least. 

It doesn't really matter, it’s not like I haven’t seen him naked before, abs and all- modestly is non-existent in SURVEY, with the communal showers and all, hell, I’ve seen Connie’s bare ass about a hundred times more than I ever wanted, but now we can (maybe) start living like relatively normal people, if only for a little while. I’m not naive enough to think we’ll be able to evade SURVEY forever.

“Whoa- we stripping back there? Don't leave me out of the fun.”

I roll my eyes so hard I can almost see the back of my head. “Shut _up_ Ymir, you're not the one currently bleeding.”

Ymir smirks like she just won the jackpot. “Well _actually-”_

Historia slaps her on the shoulder before she can finish that sentence, and blessedly, she quiets with a snort. If I only had Historia’s power of being able to quiet her- actually nevermind. I know how she got that power, and that is _not_ something I want to be the least bit involved in.

Connie grumbles, blinking blurrily at us before his eyes slide shut again. Lazy ass.

Historia seems stuck in her habit of not talking, but she touches her chin absent-mindedly while listening to Ymir’s low rambling, as if she can't believe the muzzle is off.

Marco clears his throat behind me, and I take that as a signal that I can turn around. He’s changed out of his blood-crusted pants and into a pair of shorts, bite marks now on full display. I keep myself from grimacing; it looks worse than last-night. I can smell the blood from here.

“Alright…” I sigh, crouching in front of him. 

“It’s a real looker, isn't it,” he says, injecting false humor into his voice. As I watch a little rivulet of blood bubbles up, slowly making its way down his leg.

I wish I had the mind to pick up some actual bandages from the Med-ward while I was there.

He presses a hand to the skin next to one of the gashes. “I think Armin’s right. It feels hot like it's getting infected.”

“It’ll be alright,” I insist, looking at his face to avoid the rather alarming wound. “We can find, like, antibiotics or something, like he said.” I know I’m grasping for straws. Where the hell are we going to find antibiotics?

Aw, Christ, he’s looking at me with that soft stare again.

“Yeah, okay.’’

I sniff, wiping my nose with the back of my hand, glaring at the teeth marks.

“Here,” he starts. “I can do it-”

“No,” I say, slapping his hands away. “You’ll mess it up.”

He sits back and lets me wrap the shirt tightly around his calf, making sure to get everything covered. That fucking dog. 

His eyelid twitches as I tie the fabric, but he doesn't vocalize any complaints, which is probably a good thing because I can’t promise I’d finish tying it off if it hurt him.

“There,” I say, leaning back. It’s not pretty but it works. “That should keep you from bleeding everywhere, at least.”

He shifts his ankle experimentally. “Thanks.”

Suddenly, I feel the Humvee turn. We’ve been driving in a mostly straight line for hours, so I look up, confused.

“City up ahead,” Ymir yells, waking everyone who was still asleep with a jolt.

Armin looks startled for a moment before registering the words and whipping out the map, sending the sweatshirt he had been using as a blanket to the floor. 

There is indeed a city up ahead. It’s still pretty far, but the road is a little more populated out here and looks relatively-newly paved. It’s starting to look greener, and grey mountains loom in the distance behind the city, which are dotted with trees, more than can be said for the road so far.

“Um, guys?” Armin says, biting his lip. “I’m pretty sure we’ve been driving for too long for this to be Tuba City, we would've passed it by now.”

“Okaay, where are we then?” I ask. Marco shifts beside me, leaning past the seat to see through the windshield.

“... I’m not sure,” Armin admits, squinting at the map like it will reveal it’s answers to him.

“Well, only one way to find out,” Ymir says, pressing harder on the gas.

“Whoa whoa, hold up,” I say. “Are we just supposed to waltz in there?”

All the eyes in the Humvee turn to stare at me blankly.

“... You have a better idea?” Connie asks, nonplussed.

“Well...” I open my mouth like a fish out of water, grasping for the words, “No! But we can’t go to the city in _this,”_ I say, gesturing around us. “We’ll stick out horribly- you can't really ‘lay-low’ in a big ass, military Humvee, SURVEY will find us in no time.”

“I agree with Jean,” Mikasa says, pulling the attention from me. I blink at her, surprised- it’s not every day that she agrees with me, even less that she admits it. “We need to find another ride before we get there.”

“And where are we gonna find one exactly?” Ymir asks.

Mikasa shrugs. “There's plenty of cars around, I’m sure we can get Annie to snatch the keys.” Annie doesn't acknowledge her, so I take that as an agreement.

“W-Wait,” Marco says, standing to the best of his abilities. “We can't just _steal_ a car.”

“We’d need at least two, actually,” she deadpans.

Marco splutters. “That makes it worse!”

“To be fair, I’d bet that we need it more than them,” I offer. Marco looks at me like I just told him I eat puppies for breakfast.

“It's _finee_ Marco,” Sasha says through a mouthful of granola bar- one of the thirty she has stuffed in her backpack, I’m sure. “We’ll do the dirty work, you can just be the unwilling accomplice. Besides, with that leg of yours it's not like you can stop us.”

Well that was… mildly threatening. But even Historia seems to be agreeing with us. Welcome to the Darkside.

Marco sighs in defeat, but before he can say anything else, Ymir interrupts. 

“Uh, guys? What's this blinking red light mean?”

**7:05 am, September 6, 2022**

**Marco Bodt**

“And we’re out of gas,” Jean groans, dragging the sentence out, throwing his hands in the air. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“What the hell is gas?” Reiner asks, bewildered.

Jean stares at him. “You know, the shit that makes cars go vroom- even I know that.” Reiner furrows his eyebrows, obviously not understanding. “I would've thought you, if anyone, would know about it, you've been in cars more than any of us! Well, aside from Marco, but his leg’s fucked up so I’ll give him a pass.”

I don't think that's really an excuse. My leg hurting doesn't mean my brain doesn't work. How could I forget to warn them to watch the gas- we’ve been driving so long that _obviously_ it was going to be a problem. I run a hand down my face. Reiner and Ymir don't deserve all the flack.

“To be fair, you didn’t remember either,” I say, peeking through my fingers. Jean turns to glare at me but there’s no malice, mild exasperation if anything.

“It doesn't matter now,” Armin says flatly, peering through the back window at the unmoving landscape. “I can't see the SURVEY vehicles so I think we’re safe for now.”

“Can you jump start it Eren?” Historia asks.

“No use,” Reiner interjects. “This isn't electric.” So he knows that but not that vehicles use gas as power… okay.

“So what are we supposed to do then?” Eren asks, looking to each of us for answers, coming up short. “Well shit.”

Connie gracelessly climbs over the front seats, pushing the side door open and letting in a rush of hot air. 

“Whoa, where are you going?” Jean yells after him.

“Well we can't just sit around in here forever,” he calls back, kicking the bullet-ridden side of the Humvee like that will suddenly fill the tank up again. Sasha rolls her eyes.

Ymir sticks her head out of the driver-side window. “The city is still pretty far away, I would say we could walk there, but…”

All eyes turn to me. I take this as a cue to stand up (on one foot). “It’s alright, I can walk-”

“No, you're not doing that,” Jean immediately interrupts as if he knew I was going to say that, pushing me back down with finality. “It's miles away, you'll only make your leg worse.” A car drives by, rocking the Humvee. He flinches. “Someone would see your wings, anyway.”

“Remind me why we have to keep it a secret again?” Connie says, leaning back through the door, a hand on the roof. “I mean, it's not our fault we’re different.”

Everyone shuffles, whether it's from not wanting to say the answer or not knowing, I don't know.

“Because…” Armin starts, picking at his fingernail nervously, “if reports get out about a guy with wings or a girl with silver skin-” Armin gestures at Annie “- then SURVEY will be able to pinpoint out location immediately- not to mention that people would be much more likely to be afraid of us than to accept us.”

“But… why?” Connie asks, looking genuinely confused. “They don't need to be scared of us- if anything we’re scared of them.”

Jean butts in, probably to stop Armin before he can say something optimistic like: ‘ _They would just need time to adjust.’_

“Because people can be assholes and are scared of anything they can't control.”

Armin looks down at his feet but doesn't correct him.

“As much as I hate to say it, Jean’s right,” I say somewhat hesitantly, fiddling with the strap of my backpack and not meeting anyone’s eyes. “But I think that we won't have to live on the down-low forever. We can't be the only ones out there, I’m sure we could get the public to warm up to us eventually.”

“But only after SURVEY is gone,” Jean adds.

“But only after SURVEY’s gone.”

“And what makes you think SURVEY will ever be gone?” A sneer suddenly comes over Ymir’s face. “You know what they did to the Deviants they found too late.”

Armin recoils, almost unnoticeably. A heavy silence falls over the Humvee, tension snapping in the air. I furrow my eyebrows, eyes darting around before finally settling on Jean. He’s biting the inside of his lip, withdrawn. 

No, I don't know.

“What do you mean?” I ask stiffly.

Jean shuffles nervously. “Well, um… they…”

“I killed them.”

I almost jump at the sound of Bertholdt’s voice. He’s been silent for so long I almost forgot he was there. But then my brain catches up to what he said.

I eye him incredulously. “What?”

Bertholdt keeps his eyes firmly planted on the floor. After a moment of silence, Reiner finishes the thought for him. 

“What do you think our missions were for? They sent us with a team to… _dispose_ of unruly Deviants that weren’t detected right away. Bertholdt usually had to do the dirty work due to his Deviance.” Annie comes to crouch beside Bertholdt, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

I gawk, looking to Jean for confirmation. He nods solemnly. 

“In a weird way, you're lucky that your sister blabbed on you,” Ymir starts, folding her arms on the back of the driver's seat. “If she didn't and they detected you later, they would probably kill you to save them the trouble of a Deviant who knows how to use their Deviance- not to mention that you were already a really late bloomer. They like kids best.”

“O-oh,” I say, rubbing a hand against my forehead. “Shit.”

Jean snorts abruptly. “You got that right.”

“Uh- guys? Not to ruin the moment, but someone’s stopping,” Connie warns, just outside of the open door.

Wait what?

“It’s not SURVEY, is it?” Sasha asks, voice rising a pitch.

“No, It’s a truck. A big one.”

I turn toward the back window pushing the recent realization to the back of my head; there is indeed a huge, blue, eighteen-wheeler pulling up about twenty feet behind us.

Eren almost jumps through the doorway, but suddenly turns back, eyes boring into Sasha.

“Give me the gun.”

“What- no!” Sasha whisper-shouts, protectively putting a hand over the .38. “You are _not_ shooting some random dude.”

“But we can take his truck!”

“He probably stopped to help us!”

“I’m not saying I’m going to kill him, but threats never hurt!”

“ _No_ , Eren,” Sasha says with a finality that I’ve never heard from her. It doesn't look like Eren has either, because his gaze closes off and he steps out of the Humvee. 

“If he turns us in, I’m blaming you.”

Sasha's expression hardens but he leaves before she can say anything, disappearing towards the truck.

“ _Shit_ ,” Jean hisses. “He’s being such a bitch.”

Reiner jumps out well, following Eren as damage-control.

“No, no, this could be good,” I say, watching as a middle-aged blond man steps out. “We could hitch a ride with him- we could lose SURVEY that way, granted they don't see us enter.”

He looks contemplative for a moment, before a rising horror befalls his face when he sees Eren actually approach the man. “Aw, shit, we can't let Eren talk to him, he’ll scare him away!” He makes to leave but turns back to me at the last second. “Just- wait here. Try to cover your wings up or something.”

He’s gone before I can protest. In a moment, it’s only me and Annie left in the Humvee. She quirks a brow at me, putting on a navy sweatshirt, pulling the sleeves down and throwing on the hood to hide her skin, apparently too lazy to go invisible (But I guess if I had to take my clothes off every time I used my Deviance I wouldn't want to either). I watch uselessly as she slips through the doorway to join the others who are now gathered outside. _Shit._

No offense to Jean, but I doubt he would be much better than Eren at talking. I’m the only one here that didn't learn their social skills from Levi, if anyone should be talking to him, it’s me.

“Heya, y'all alright?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly this has evolved into a road trip fic.
> 
> Sooo, uh, sorry that there was no chapter last week, I got dragged kicking and screaming into The Last of Us fandom, but I wrote a couple of fics and now I have it out of my system, so yay! I'm back! But hey, this chapter is over 10k, so that ain’t too bad, eh? This was mostly just a bridging chapter despite being so long. The next few are probably going to be pretty slow as well, but man, when I say it picks up again, it picks up.
> 
> Sorry that Eren’s kind of being a jerk, I promise he gets better. He just doesn't know how to handle shit- neither does Jean, really. 
> 
> Are 1,000 words of the boys watching each other sleep too much? Probably. But is it really a fanfiction if they don't? Yeah, that's what I thought.
> 
> Woot woot, I've written 100k words in two months, a new record for me.
> 
> Also, how do you guys feel about such long chapters? Do you feel that they're dragging on? Would you prefer shorter ones? Please let me know! :)


	10. Deer in the chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: animal abuse- kind of? It's a test rat. And, you know, the usual graphic descriptions of wounds.

**6:58 pm, September 6th, 2022**

**Levi Ackerman**

“This is frankly _embarrassing.”_

Levi hums in agreement. He’s not wrong.

Erwin breaths out a long breath, slumping over and resting his elbow on the desk, pressing his fingers to his forehead. “What did you do?” He asks plainly, voice void of any accusation or anger.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Erwin spreads his fingers, shooting him an unimpressed look through them. “So you're telling me they just _happened_ to know where the vehicles were, they _happened_ to know all the exists, they _happened_ to know how to get out.”

Levi shrugs. “Most of them have been here for half of their lives- that's more than enough time to learn the little details.”

“Uh-huh,” Erwin deadpans. “And that has _nothing_ to do with you.”

Levi shakes his head. Erwin sighs.

"Well, hopefully _,_ with any luck, they might turn themselves back into us and it won't matter."

Levi lifts a brow in question. Turn themselves in?

"I gave 001 something that will be of great benefit to us if he is so inclined to use it," Erwin says, answering the silent question.

Before Levi can mull over what that means, the click of the doorknob turning sounds from behind him and Mike walks in, a laptop cradled in his elbow. Levi steps to the side, arms folded behind his back, making room for Mike to angle the laptop on the desk so they all can see it.

It's a _New York Times_ news article headed with a grainy picture of the facility, obviously taken from satellite footage, titled: _New SURVEY Corps base discovered- how deep do the roots run?_

“They don't know about the subjects,” Mike says gruffly, straightening his back. “All they know is that a soldier was killed- but relatives of the casualties of the previous incident are starting to speak out. None of them know anything, of course, but it’s causing public unrest.”

“Public unrest,” Erwin scoffs. “I wish they’d realize this is for the greater good- the government isn't funding us for nothing- we were made a branch of the military for God’s sake.”

“To be fair, the government doesn't exactly have the cleanest track record. The fact that they fund us probably only makes them more suspicious,” Levi says bluntly.

Erwin blinks slowly at him with an apparent: _You’re really not helping_ kind of look but doesn't argue. 

“Long-story-short, we’ve lost them. We recovered the Humvee a few miles out of Flagstaff but not the subjects. We can only assume they’re hiding there.” 

Suddenly, there's a loud _bang_ against the door that rattles the walls. Ten years ago Levi might’ve jumped, but he’s long since past that point. Hangi barges in, glasses askew and hair disheveled, a flushed and panting Moblit and Petra trailing after her, the latter’s chest heaving.

“Haven't you heard of knocking?” Levi deadpans, his stoney expression breaking with a quirk of an eyebrow when she dangles a rat in Erwin’s face, holding the wiggling rodent by its tail and practically vibrating in excitement. 

“Look!” she commands without explanation, shoving the laptop out of the way and pressing the rat to the desk belly up, bringing up a tiny surgical knife.

“You are _not_ dissecting a rat on my desk-”

“Shh!” 

Levi’s lip curls when she trails the knife down its belly, not deep enough to kill but deep enough for red droplets to bubble up, the rat screeching and chattering the entire time, trying to twist away and nip at the fingers holding it down.

“And what's the point of this?” Levi asks, mildly disgusted.

“Just watch,” she insists. So Levi watches.

At first, nothing happens, the rat is still as squeaky as ever, but slowly, almost imperceptibly in a blink and you miss it kind of way, the laceration stitches itself back up, the only evidence of the wound the red blood that's now crusted onto its white fur. The rat’s chest is moving rapidly but it stops its squeaking as if it can't believe what happened either.

“See! I _told_ you it was too early to dispose of the other subjects! Well, 013 at least.” Before anyone can ask, she jumps into the explanation. “So, y'know all those samples we took from 013? Well, just a week and a half ago I managed to pinpoint the cells that are _doing_ the healing through a microscope. All they need is oxygen to activate. They travel with the bloodstream yet aren't _exactly_ blood cells- more like a mutated version of them. I've taken to calling them Titan Cells, or just TC for short. They’re almost double the size of White blood cells- hence the name- it’s a miracle they can travel through the veins without clogging them at all.” A faraway look comes across her eyes. “I wonder if a person’s Deviance has ever killed them… hmm… something to research… anyway, they’re fast- really fast, and ten times as effective in creating clots and re-building the skin, though they aren't magical- anything immediately fatal to a normal person would be fatal to a person with TC cells, same with if their wounds are bad enough- they can still bleed out-”

Levi is having a hard time following this. “Get to the point already.”

Hangi’s voice cuts off and blinks in surprise before looking down at the rat still clutched in her hand. “Oh right, I got a little carried away, didn’t I?” she chuckles. “Oh well, _anyway,_ we first tried injecting his blood into rats with compatible blood types, but it produced a fatal immune response within the day, so instead we collected the Titan Cells one by one separately from the blood and injected it into this rat’s bloodstream. And it worked! It has the same accelerated healing as 013!”

Erwin leans forward, an excited glint in his eye. “You succeeded?”

“I succeeded!” Hangi throws her hands up in excitement, inadvertently letting the rat free, but Moblit catches it before it can scuttle off the desk. “But we don't have many more samples left, we’ll have to get 013 back if we’re to try it on humans.”

“We’ll get him back,” Erwin says resolutely, placing his palm flat on the table. “I’ll send the helicopter to Flagstaff to see if we can find them- if that doesn't work, we’ll send the vans.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Levi sees Petra shift almost nervously _._ He raises a brow. She smiles thinly in response.

**7:12 am, September 6th, 2022**

**Jean Kirstein**

I warily approach the stranger, resisting the urge to shade my eyes from the morning sun.

He’s a middle-aged blond man wearing boots, baggy jeans and a ratty old flannel with a bit of a gut, attempting to talk to Eren, who’s not giving him much to work with.

“Y'all need me to call for a tow?” He asks in a drawl I’ve never heard before.

Reiner comes up beside Eren after he just stares at the man blankly for a second too long. “A- uh, a what now?”

“A tow truck?”

“No!” Armin butts in, speaking a little too fast. “No, we’re fine, thank you though!”

I push past Bertholdt and Connie, coming to stop a few feet away from the exchange. This is dangerous. He could turn us in at any time. We _can't_ be talking to him like this, even if we don't really have any alternative other than waiting in the Humvee for SURVEY to show up.

“Oh- uh, if ya say so.” He not-so-discreetly cranes his neck to see the battered Humvee, no doubt noticing the dozens of dents and bullet-holes. He shoots a weird look at Eren and scratches the back of his head. “You guys military?”

“Yeah,” Reiner says, projecting false confidence into his stance. “We’re just…”

“Doing a routine check?” Armin finishes, but it comes out more like a question. It’s not very convincing.

“We just ran out of gas,” I say, coming in between Reiner and Armin. “Thank you for stopping, but we really should be going-”

The man’s eyes flick to something behind me, and I stop, confused. Marco steps out of the Humvee; I don't know how he did it, and I’m not gonna ask, but he’s somehow managed to shove his wings under a coat that is definitely not his- judging by the length it’s probably Bertholdt’s- with nothing more than a bit of bulk added to his figure. The only suspicious thing is the shirt that's still acting as a bandage wrapped around his calf- and the fact that he’s wearing a coat in what has to be at least 90-degree weather.

He jogs towards us with surprising ease, and I bet that no one other than me notices the tightness around his eyes as I’m sure every step hurts him. But I can’t say I’m not relieved to finally have someone here who knows how to interact with real-life people.

“Actually,” he starts, coming up on my right, Armin and Reiner backing off. “We ran into a spot of trouble and got a bit turned around, could you tell us where exactly we are?”

He’s by far acting the normal-ist out of all of us- and I can't tell if it looks forced or not. The man seems to buy it, though.

He blinks. “Flagstaff is right over there.” He points to the city behind me. “That's where I’m heading, actually- got a delivery.”

Marco nods like that was the most interesting thing he’s heard all day. “What are you delivering?”

I watch in thinly-veiled wonder as Marco effortlessly coaxes the conversation to the topic of letting us hitch a ride, all the while getting the man to warm up to him.

“What are y’all doing out here?”

Marco falters for the first time, and I can see him racking his brain for an answer that doesn't involve SURVEY or Deviances. “That’s- uh, that's classified, sir,” he finally says, smiling apologetically.

The man nods in understanding. “Perfectly alright son, I get it, but you all look a little young, how long have y’all been serving for?” I scour his eyes for any hint of suspicion but only find curiosity. I can’t tell if he’s just incredibly genuine or incredibly stupid. Probably the latter. Not many would pull up to help a bullet-ridden Humvee on the side of the road. I sure wouldn't. _But Marco probably would._

“Ah, we’re barely full-fledged soldiers, sir, just got out of the recruit stage,” Marco says. I have no idea if he actually knows what he’s talking about or just bullshitting all of this.

The man appears to accept this, but I can’t ignore the way his eyes keep darting to Eren. I can't place the expression.

“Do you need me to call someone?” His eyes travel down to the shirt wrapped around Marco’s leg and he gives him a weird look but doesn't comment.

“Ah, no, it's alright,” Marco says, noticing where his eyes are pointed. He looks down at his leg. “It's- uh, y’know... fashion,” he says as a way of explanation, smoothing his hair down. It's only the tiniest tremor in his hands that keeps me from snorting.

“We just need to get to Flagstaff you see, and I’m afraid one of us has come down with a sickness,” he sighs, gesturing to Annie whose face is shaded under her hood. She coughs for effect. “I don't think she can make the walk all the way there.”

Ah, I see what he's doing now.

The man shoots her a pitying look. 

“Do you happen to have any spare gas?” Marco asks, outwardly hopeful. I inwardly pray that he doesn't.

“No, I don't, but… I’d be happy to let you guys hitch a ride in the back if you like- as long as you don't tell my superiors that is,” he chuckles. 

_Yes!_

Marco jumps on the offer. “Really?” he asks, schooling the excitement from his face into a mask of mild appreciation. “That would be great, Mr…?”

“You can just call me Hannes.”

Marco smiles blindingly. “Hannes, I promise we’ll get out of your hair as soon as possible, we really appreciate it-”

 _Hannes_ waves it off. “It’s no problem really- from one military man to another.”

“You’re a Veteran?”

“Mhm.” He heads towards the back of the truck and a few of us follow, the rest observing from afar. Mikasa has her hands slightly raised, no doubt readying herself in case she needs to blow him away, but is otherwise staying out of the way.

He unlatches the big pull-down door at the back of the trailer, labeled: _Garrison express goods- We’ll be your shield!_ In blue print over a tacky, oversimplified cartoon shield with two roses on top of it in chipping red paint.

There are about two dozen heavy-looking cardboard boxes sitting against the back wall, but two-thirds of the trailer is left open- there'd be plenty of space for us.

“Most of y’all can hop back there and someone can ride up front next to me- y’know, make sure I’m not kidnapping you or anything,” he says with a chuckle. He looks expectantly at Marco, obviously thinking he’ll be the one up front.

Marco’s smile _almost_ falters. He discreetly favors his leg, shifting uncomfortably, and I can just see the outline of his wings under the coat. There's no way he can sit up there without alerting Hannes to his wings or laceration- probably both.

I glance at Reiner but he’s too busy examining the trailer and Armin is furiously busying himself with telling the others to grab their backpacks. I know for a fact that Armin, however composed he makes himself seem, would freak out if he had to be alone up front, and I don't want to be the cause of a panic attack right now, thank-you-very-much.

Am I really going to throw myself under the bus?

Yeah, I guess I am.

“I’ll ride up in the front, I know where we’re going anyway,” I say casually, flashing Marco the folded piece of paper.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he sends me a look as if to say: _We’re going there?_

I shoot him a look back that hopefully says: _Yeah. Why the hell not._

Hannes raises an eyebrow, eyes darting back and forth to try to understand this silent exchange, obviously not getting why this is such a big deal.

I lean over to Marco. “Make sure they get my backpack, yeah?”

**7:21 am, September 6th, 2022**

**Marco Bodt**

I can’t see it, but I know our deserted home for the night is quickly disappearing behind the eighteen-wheeler. Hopefully, all that SURVEY finds is a dented, empty-tanked Humvee with no trace of us. Assuming Hannes doesn't rat us out- on purpose or accidentally, we _should_ be in the clear for now. They will, of course, correctly assume that we’re in Flagstaff, but Flagstaff is huge, there's no way they can track the thousands of cars that enter and leave every day, so, if all goes right, we’ll lay low for a while at Dr. Ral’s house (assuming that SURVEY isn't aware of it as she said) and find a ride out. After that… I don't know where we’ll go.

I wish with all of my heart that I could go back home, if only to see Mamá and Mina for a moment, but I’m not naive enough to assume that SURVEY isn't watching the house, waiting for us to show our faces. _Or,_ maybe, they realize that we are much too smart to go somewhere as obvious as that so they decided to overlook it completely- but that's wishful thinking. Or maybe it's not...

No, it doesn't matter. It’s not worth the risk, however much I long to.

While trying to get comfortable, I accidentally bump my wounded leg with my heel and I grind my teeth together, squeezing my eyes shut and leaning my head against the wall of the trailer, letting the vibrations rattle my skull.

My leg is on _fire_ , and every time my muscles flex the jagged tears the dog’s teeth made quiver, as if my muscles no longer know what to do. It really should be healed by now. Jogging around like there's nothing wrong didn't do me any favors, either.

I tighten the knot of Jean’s shirt, squeezing the fabric tighter around my leg, getting a second of relief before the pain comes throbbing back worse than before.

“...You doing okay?”

I look up to Eren, who is sitting cross-legged a few feet in front of me against the other side of the trailer. Wiping my forehead, my hand comes away suddenly sweaty even though I’m actually feeling quite chilly.

Despite myself, I feel a twinge of annoyance in my gut, remembering how he’s been treating Jean, but I don't have it in me to actually get mad at him right now.

“Yeah,” I say unconvincingly, rubbing at my head, trying to chase the oncoming headache away. “It’s… it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’ll heal.”

His lips pull into a frown but he doesn't comment. A few feet next to him, Ymir rather pointedly has her back turned towards me, but I don’t think it’s to shun me, rather that she’s… nervous? Can she be nervous?

Now that I’m looking for it, everyone is giving me just a _little_ too much space for it to be unintentional. I notice Armin glancing at me about every two seconds as if to make sure I haven't keeled over dead. He doesn't have to worry- I’m not quite at that part yet. 

Gosh, you'd think I have some deadly disease with how everyone is acting. I’m quickly realizing that everyone may be more emotionally stunted than they originally let on.

Connie is the first to break the silence. “Man, you really saved our asses out there Marco, I could see him getting ready to call the cops on us until you came along. I guess he couldn't handle Eren’s level of intenseness.”

That was obviously supposed to be a joke, but it falls flat, getting only a courtesy grunt from Sasha.

I can't say how grateful I am to Jean for biting the bullet and sitting up front, it looked like it physically pained him to volunteer, but he gave me some much-needed rest. Hopefully he’s doing okay up there.

**7:23 am, September 6th, 2022**

**Jean Kirstein**

I’m about ready to sink into the floor and die.

You’d think that years of brutal training and being literally raised as a weapon would beat any semblance of social anxiety out of you, but you’d be dead wrong. I've got no idea how to interact with real-life people.

The passenger seat is so tall that my toes barely touch the floor, and the musty smell of salty foods and very, very, _nauseatingly_ strong air-freshener hangs in the air. I can already feel a headache forming behind my eyes.

Practically vibrating in my seat, I pick at the stained seatbelt over my chest that took an embarrassingly number of tries for me to click into place, staring out the front window at the slowly approaching city. If I squint, I can spot children playing in a backyard with a ball. I rub my eyes. Focusing too much.

Hannes fiddles with some buttons and dials on the dashboard that I don't know the purpose of and I watch, trying not to look too interested. 

“ _-turned out had a heart of glass-”_

I jump when a cacophony of noise suddenly blares through the speaker, heart jumping through to my throat.

Hannes chuckles. “Sorry, forgot I had it up so loud, I’ll turn it down.” He twists one of the dials and the _sounds_ fade to a more tolerable level.

“What- um, what is that?” I ask, clutching at my seatbelt. He quirks a brow.

“The radio? Music? Don't tell me you don’t know Blondie.” 

I most definitely don’t know Blondie, and that's like no radio I’ve ever heard. Is it the same thing that the guards talked through? No, it can’t be. 

“Here, how about some news.” He presses one of the buttons and the music cuts off, replaced by a regularly-toned woman’s voice. 

After a few moments of awkward silence- awkward for me at least, he doesn't seem all that bothered- he speaks up. “You from that base a couple hundred miles back- y’know, the restricted one? Doesn't even show up on Google maps?”

I blink. What’re Google maps? The outside world is so confusing. I rack my brain for a response- _what would Marco say_. “Yeah? What about it?” It’s not exactly the most confident answer, but hopefully it's buyable. 

He takes his eyes off the road to look at me weirdly- not suspicious weirdly, just… confused weirdly. “And what branch are you guys in again?”

I stiffen. “... the Army,” I say, an edge to my voice, too tense to be casual.

He hums in a way that makes me suspect that I said the wrong thing. “See… that's weird, because that's an Air-force base back there, established a few years ago- that's what they say at least.”

_Fuck._

He must read _something_ on my face because he holds up his hands. “I know it’s none of my business, but y’all are _not_ dressed like you’re on active duty, and the closest you seem to have to a Commanding officer is that freckled boy, and he can't be older than twenty. And I've never seen a Humvee run out of gas and leave a group of soldiers stranded with no communication.”

“... It’s classified.”

He barks out a laugh, remarkably casual for someone who could have picked up stoney group of serial killers for all he knows. “Alright, alright, I won't pry, but if I may ask-” he hesitates for a second. “What’s that brown-haired boy’s name?” I furrow my eyebrows. What does he want? “Y’know, green eyes, olive skin, looked like he was going to jump me.”

I raise my eyebrows in a striking moment of eyebrow-gymnastics. “Eren?”

He sucks in a breath, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. Oops. Maybe I should have lied.

Hannes nods slowly, staring straight out the front window with glassy eyes. “And, um, what's his last name?”

I regard him carefully, digging my blunt nails into my palm, no doubt leaving little pink crescents. Should I tell him? I mean, what the hell could he even learn from Eren’s name? And now I’m curious. “...Jaeger,” I say eventually, narrowing my eyes and watching his reaction.

He gapes at me- at least, as much as he can without crashing us. “I knew he looked familiar,” he exclaims in shock, slapping the steering wheel.

“Wait- familiar?” I turn in my seat as much as I can, staring at him incredulously. “Do you know him?” Excitement starts to bubble up in my stomach- damn, I never thought I’d be excited _for_ Eren.

“No, no, it can’t be,” he says, shaking his head.

“What can’t be?”

He turns to me urgently. “Has he ever told you where he’s from?”

“Um, no.” _Because he doesn't know,_ I add silently.

He pulls at his wispy mustache, leaning back against his backrest. “He- the Eren _I_ know at least, went missing years ago, when he was eight.” A pinched look comes over his face. “He was my friend's son.” He suddenly sits up. “But no, he can’t be the same one- even if he looks like him, he-” he breaks off, defeated.

My mind is reeling. “Where was he from? Do you still know his family? Where are they?”

His eyes widen. “So he _is_ the same one?”

 _Shit. “_ Uhh _maybe?”_ I offer, cringing. “A-and where are they from?” I might feel weird about freaking out with the random dude in his semi-truck if I weren’t having the fucking revelation of a lifetime- one of many, really.

He shakes his head in an attempt to clear his mind. “Right now they live in Seattle, though they used to live somewhere in Nevada- and Germany before that.”

I’ll have to get Marco to point out Seattle to me on the map.

Hannes suddenly jerks the steering wheel to the right. “I have to talk to him-”

“N-no!” I stop him, throwing my hands out. “We can’t stop now, we can’t-” Something on the radio catches my ear. I break off, tilting my head and slowly lowering my hands. Hannes’ mouth snaps shut.

“-ecent death of a US SURVEY Corps soldier brings forward questions as to _what_ exactly the SURVEY Corps are doing now that a supposed Air-force base in Black Mesa Arizona has been revealed as the SURVEY corps main facility. It brings forth memories of the supposed freak gas-explosion seven years and a half years ago. Since then, all SURVEY corp soldiers have been sworn to absolute secrecy, and suspicions have arisen about what exactly the government is funding. The daughter of a soldier who was killed in the ‘accident' seven years ago speaks out- warning for those at home, this may contain imagery that some may find disturbing- “ the voice switches to a younger woman’s voice. ‘I don’t know what they were doing there, but it was something _wrong,_ very wrong. I never got to see my dad after he joined up, but the next time I did it was when he was sent back in a box. His body was so mutilated that I could barely recognize him- that was no gas explosion, he was not burned-”

I go pale. That was my fault. Hannes doesn't miss this. He grips the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles go white.

“... are you guys SURVEY?” I’m sure he already knows but I nod anyway. To my surprise, he just nods slowly and keeps driving. I blink at him. He has every right to throw us out of his truck right now, to call the police on us, but he… isn't.

I perch on the edge of my seat, eyeing him warily.

“What about you? Where's your family?”

I stiffen, keeping my eyes fixed in the city in front of us. “Uhh… that's classified.”

“Do none of you know?” He asks incredulously. Welp, he saw straight through that. “Are you even soldiers?”

“ _Technically,_ I think we are…” I say like an idiot, as if it makes a difference. He stares at me. “Look.” I shift to face him. “You can’t tell anyone about this, alright? Please? That would screw us over big time. I promise that we’re- we’re-” 

We’re what?

“We mean no harm, alright? We just need to get to Flagstaff, then you never have to see us again.” I can't help but feel angry- I really do owe him an explanation- he’s giving us a ride and all, but I don’t have answers. What am I supposed to say? _Yeah, we were kidnapped as children because we have superpowers and none of us know how to talk to people because we were practically raised by Captain-fucking-Levi and we were totally lying just so we could use you to get to Flagstaff and Eren was ready to steal your truck with or without you- also, I’m a murderer, and so is that girl back there, so we’d really appreciate it if you would just keep this on the down-low, capeesh?_ Actually, that's probably the best I could say.

Hannes sighs. “Look. You all seem like good kids. Whatever it is you're doing- or running from, I won't tell anyone. Especially because you got _Eren_ here,” he says it like he can't believe it. “I can't promise I won't tell his parents about this, though.”

I nod. Guess I can only ask for so much. _“Thank you.”_

He shoots me a warm, if troubled smile. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

“Is this it?”

I squint at the paper. “Yeah, think so. Better be.”

I make to grab the door handle but hesitate, staring at it but seeing nothing. I know it’s paranoid, but what if they see us in this tiny stretch from the sidewalk to the front door? What if they already have people here, disguised as citizens, just waiting to find us and call in reinforcements? It’s been all about the _what-ifs_ lately.

Hannes sees me pause. “I’ll go tell the others,” he says, already slipping out the drivers-side door. 

I gather a breath, and I feel the rumble of the back door sliding up, I push the handle and step down onto the black asphalt. 

This area is strikingly _suburban-_ not that I remember all that many suburban places, but this seems like the place I’d read in the occasional book I actually picked up. The house in front of us, _7378 Hollow Ridge Rd,_ appears to be of medium size, green bushes in its front yard and a few bright pink flowers in a pot on the doorstep next to a swinging chair? Bench? Whatever. The stucco is white and its front windows have drawn curtains behind them. Perfect.

I duck my head, letting my hair droop over my eyes as I walk to the back of the semi-truck where the others are poking their heads out, blinking against the harsh sun. And they think they have it bad.

Connie jumps down first, turning in a slow circle and taking in the street. I almost snap at him for showing his face like that, but Mikasa beats me to it, tugging at his arm with one of her famous _looks._

Hannes looks to Eren as he climbs out but he doesn't notice the attention, gaping at the houses in the same way that Connie did. 

“ _Whoa,_ this is where normal people live?”

Mikasa slaps him on the arm and he sheepishly hunches his shoulders, realizing his mistake. Hannes barely blinks though, just watches him solemnly. 

My attention is jerked to the right, however, when Marco hobbles out, dropping down with a steadying hand on Armin’s shoulder. Wow, he’s not looking too hot. I can see him actively trying to keep the flinch from his face when he has to put pressure on his bad leg, but some of it shows anyway. Despite that, he immediately turns to Hannes.

“Thank you _so much-”_

Hannes holds up a hand, shaking his head. “Like I said, it’s fine. Besides, he explained some of it to me,” he says, gesturing to me. It’s now that I realize that he doesn't even know my name.

Marco blinks but nods reluctantly. I almost think that Hannes is going to say something to Eren, but he hesitates before turning back to his side of the semi-truck with a wave in our direction. 

My eyes don’t leave the truck until it turns the corner and is out of sight. By that time, Connie is already rattling the doorknob, the others quickly beginning to crowd him.

I push my way past them, batting Connie’s hands away and sticking the key in the keyhole after only three failed attempts. Swinging the door open, the scent of _dust_ and _plants_ and _water_ and many, many smells I don’t know the source of hits me at the same time. Connie and Eren push past me, taking it all in. The picture frames on the pale orange walls, the couch, the bookshelves, the- _is that a TV?_ It’s flat and black and embedded into the wall, much fancier than the single one I remember from my… old house.

Remembering that I’m still standing in the doorway, I get out of the way, letting the others file in. 

Is this what a _real_ home is like? I wonder, turning in a slow circle and breathing in, air nothing like the sterile chemicals of the facility. Yellow sunlight streams through the windows that must be facing the backyard, the rustle of leaves and the trickle of running water coming from outside. It’s so picture-frame perfect it's almost _cheesy._

The moment is ruined by Sasha, who seems back to her normal self after yesterday, flopping onto the brown couch with a loud groan. “ _Shit, that's good stuff,”_ she practically moans.

I sniff and follow my nose to the kitchen like a dog, evading the others who are looking around in varying degrees of amazement- even Annie looks curious- and coming to stand stupidly in the rather small but cozy kitchen.

Yanking open a drawer at random, I scan the bottles, not quite sure what I’m looking for- all I know is that it smell _strongly._ I bring a black bottle to my nose, almost choking on the thick scent the second I inhale. I cough, cringing and waving a hand in front of my face, putting the bottle carefully back.

 _“Jesus,_ what the hell _is_ that,” I cough to myself, scrunching up my nose.

“Vanilla extract.”

I look up. I hadn't noticed Marco come up beside me.

“ _Vanilla?_ That smells like no vanilla I’ve ever tasted.”

He chuckles, leaning against the counter in a way that might be casual if it weren't for the fact that he’s obviously favoring his left leg. “You're probably used to artificial vanilla.”

“Huh. My life is a lie.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” he teases, eyes darting down to the still-open drawer. “That looks to be the spice drawer- makes sense that it’d smell strongly.”

I push it shut resolutely. “Well I’m _never_ touching that stuff again.”

“You might like it- the food at SURVEY was _beyond_ bland, even the chocolate rations.”

I eye him, still doubtful. “Guess you’ll have to show me then.”

He blushes for some god-forsaken reason. “Yeah- alright.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I smirk, pointing at him.

He grins. “Sounds like a plan.” He looks towards others, some of whom are still in the living room and the rest I assume to be exploring the rest of the house. “I think I’m gonna go sit down for a sec,” he says.

Suddenly I remember his leg. I scowl. “Yeah, what the hell are you doing up, go, sit,” I shoo, and he complies, but not without shooting another smile in my direction. Idiot.

I turn back to the kitchen, not quite able to keep the stupid grin from my cheeks. I crack the curtains of the window above the sink open, taking in the green backyard before letting them fall shut again. This is _crazy._

I touch the countertops in wonder, feeling the cool granite. I think the walls are supposed to be a calming green but it really just looks like someone left an avocado out for a few days too many and slathered it all over the wallpaper- but I can’t even care about that, too wrapped up in this moment of _freedom._

I won’t lie, freedom... scares me. Not just because I know SURVEY is hunting us at this very moment, or because if one wrong person sees any of our faces we’ll be dragged back to the facility and they’ll put us down like the dogs they think we are- not that that's not a considerably large factor of course, but just the _idea._ The idea that I can just… do something. Because I want to. Because I feel like it. I’ll admit it, it’s a little… nerve-racking. I’m not used to it, but… I think I could learn to be used to it. 

My attention is caught by a little blinking red light on the smoke detector on the ceiling. I stare at it, too deep in my thoughts to really see it, the _blinkblinkblink-_

With a start, I suddenly remember what the Commander said. That I’m a Red-class Deviant. I swallow heavily. I had completely forgotten with the recent chaos, though I guess it doesn't really matter anymore. I’m not planning to use the full extent of my Deviance anytime soon. The others don’t need to know- not right now, at least.

I eye Eren where he’s messing with something on the table. Should I tell him about Hannes? I already know he’ll be pissed that I didn’t tell him earlier, before Hannes left, I’d rather not make things worse right now, but... he deserves to know.

I’m abruptly torn from my thoughts when, predictably, Sasha jumps into the kitchen and tears open the fridge. I have to rear back to avoid getting my nose broken. I shake my head. Right. Living in the moment.

Peeking over Sasha's shoulder, I peer into the fridge; It’s pretty much empty. Dr. Ral must not have been here for a little while- I’m 90% sure the doctors sleep at the facility anyway. 

Sasha moves to the large door to its left- a pantry, maybe? She gets more luck with this one, it's stocked full of cans and boxes of food and a few brightly colored bags of chips. God, I can’t even remember what those taste like. Guess I’m about to find out, considering Sasha immediately grabs one and tears it open, taking an experimental bite of an orange-dusted chip, her look of curiosity immediately turning to one of a cat who got the cream. 

“Let me try one,” I butt in before she can scarf them all down. This catches others’ attention, who are coming to see what the fuss is about. 

I manage to snag one and I sniff it, the overpowering smell of _artificial cheese_ practically filling the whole room. I watch as Reiner shoves one into Bertholdt’s fingers and Annie stares suspiciously at it. A look of pure shock comes over Connie’s face when he licks his. He certainly seems to like it.

I nibble at one of the corners. Even the smell couldn’t prepare me for the _burst_ of cheese flavor that invades my mouth. I barely refrain from spitting it out.

“Yeah, no,” I say. “Too much.” Sasha gladly plucks the chip from my fingers. Mikasa and Bertholdt also dub it ‘too flavorful to eat’ but the rest of them inhale them like it’s the new air they breathe.

I shake my head, bemused. I’m not sure how anyone could eat that. My eyes instinctively search for the one person that’s absent from the crowd: Marco. I find him on the couch, back facing us. I pad past the others and round the couch.

He looks tired and pale- worse than only a couple hours ago.

“S’fine,” he assures before I can say anything.

I highly doubt he is.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

After brushing my teeth and trying out Dr. Ral's toothpaste (thank god Historia had the forethought to pack all of ours), I drift through the silent house, stepping over the occasional sleeping body or stray limb. There turned out to be only two beds so most of us are stuck with whatever soft things we can find if you were lucky enough to snatch one, but I haven't settled down yet. Too much on my mind.

It’s so _quiet._ Not SURVEY quiet with the constant buzz of electricity and the many footsteps of soldiers of the hall, but peaceful. Almost too peaceful. I don’t trust it. 

Pictures frames hang in the hallway leading to the bedrooms, images of random people that must be Dr. Ral's family, but most of her hand a man. I pause in front of one; it's her wedding. She's in a flowing white dress, staring adorningly at a man whose hair color is not far from mine. She looks too good for him, to be honest, but hey, who am I to judge. Getting the feeling that I'm invading something sacred, I turn away.

I stop in front of the couch where Marco is sleeping rather fitfully, skin clammy and pale. He’s on his back, blanketless, one wing hanging off each side of the couch and a pillow lying half-over his face. I reach out and push it to the side so he can, like, actually _breathe_. 

Armin was right. I can smell the infection now- soon it will probably be strong enough for the others to pick up on. It’s painfully obvious that he’s been putting up a front for the past day and a half or so, but it’s crumbling now, and I _wish_ I could do something more to help.

His wound isn't getting better, it's only getting worse (guess super-healing only goes so far), but I don’t know what to do- and neither does anyone else. We can’t just leave him like this, if we do, as much as I hate to admit it, death isn't out of the range of possibilities. I've seen what untreated wounds can do to people. 

I breathe deeply, clenching my eyes shut. Why does everything have to be so _hard?_ Who out there is going _ah yes, let’s see how we can fuck Jean’s life up further today, shall we?_ Whoever it is needs to fuck right off.

I stare blankly at his wrapped leg. Goddammit. 

I (quietly) rummage around in the linen closet and every drawer I can find before finally finding what I was looking for under the sink, which was of course the last place I looked. I bring the First Aid kit back to the couch, lightly sitting on the last cushion just clear of Marco’s feet. It's a mile better than those SURVEY couches, even if they lack the certain… charm.

I delicately unwrap the shirt- I have to _peel_ it off at some places because of the puss sticking to it. Marco grumbles in his sleep but otherwise doesn't move.

The bites have _definitely_ festered. The skin is bruised, red and puffy, wet with what must be plasma, the edges of each gash lined with green puss. I bundle the shirt in a ball, gross part in the middle, and set it next to me, popping open the red-tabbed First Aid kit. I shakily open the packaging of a sterile alcohol wipe. If he’s not going to help himself, I will. 

I begin to lightly wipe the crusts of blood and plasma away, wary not to put too much pressure on the dark purple bruise under the bites.

Through the thin film of half-consciousness, Marco jerks, eyelids fluttering, and reflectively tries to pull his leg back.

“S’alright, just me.”

He calms at that- he must register my voice from wherever he’s swimming around in inside his mind because he just kind of lifts his head and his eyes blurrily blink open, only to slide shut again. I watch the steady, if shallow, rise and fall of his chest. I almost expected him to perk right up, because of course- he’s fine. Absolutely nothing to worry about. But he doesn't, and I can’t tell if that's good or bad. At least he’s not fighting against it.

I toss the dirtied alcohol wipe onto the shirt and pick up the small tube of antiseptic cream, weighing it in my hand. Is it useless to use this after the cuts are already infected? Whatever- it can’t hurt. It better not, at least.

I dab the cream thinly over one of the teeth-marks before moving onto the next. I’d imagine that the coolness would be a relief if nothing else.

After a minute of that, I screw the cap back on and pick up the roll of gauze. Would it be better to let it breathe or wrap it? Man, I know nothing about this. 

Ultimately I decide to wrap it- if only to spare the couch, and after swathing it tightly (but not too tightly) I secure it with a piece of medical tape. I shut the First Aid kit, expelling air heavily out of my nose. I sit there staring at nothing for who knows how long before I come back to myself and I replace the kit under the sink and shove the shirt and wipe in the trash can.

I stand in the middle of the dark living room, the only light filtering through the windows, listening to the soft breathing and snores of my friends (Except for Historia and Ymir who took one of the beds- I don't want to think about what _they’re_ doing, and Eren, Mikasa, and Armin who have the other bedroom). I would say I envy them for their ability to just fall asleep, but I know it's more complicated than that.

Though none of them left me anything to use as a pillow. And we’ve appeared to have raided poor Dr. Ral’s linin closet of every available blanket.

I pad towards Connie, careful not to squeak the creaky wood floorboards, and steal one of the three pillows he’s hogging and his blanket- he’ll survive. He doesn't even stir, just snorts unattractively, mouth hanging open. My lips can't help but quirk into a weak smile.

I throw the pillow in the space between the couch and the coffee table to Marco’s right, but before I throw the blanket down too, I see Marco faintly shivering out of the corner of my eye. Asshole. If he’s fevering already I _will_ beat his ass, infected leg or not. 

Without a second thought, I shake the blanket out and pull it over him, careful not to wake him. Thank you for your sacrifice Connie. It’s for a good cause.

I lay on the ground next to him, tucking my arm under my pillow. It smells of dust but also of something sweet, something this whole house smells of that I can’t quite put my finger on. Do all homes smell like this? 

Wooden floor is not exactly the most comfortable mattress- I can already tell that my hip is going to hurt like hell in the morning, but it’s miles better than last night. I sigh, rolling onto my back, eyes immediately being drawn to Marco’s hand, fingers just barely hanging off of the edge of the couch.

Before I know it, my fingers are trailing over his freckled ones, squeezing them lightly. His don’t even twitch. After a moment I tuck my arm back against my chest, staring at the popcorn ceiling, still feeling the warmth of his skin in my hand.

I didn't get a chance to tell Eren about Hannes today- tomorrow, I promise I will.

After what feels like hours of imaging increasingly horrific ‘what-if’ scenarios involving entirely too much death for my liking, sleep comes over me like a welcome blanket, and I dream of stars, dogs, freckles, and endless desert roads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep telling these dudes to do something cute but they won’t stop angsting to themselves. Next chapter is probably going to be pretty fluffy. Thinking about maybe adding more side-ships. We’ll see. Thanks for sticking with me, luv y’all!


	11. Dead Weight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These dudes are gonna give me an aneurysm one of these days I swear.

**6:45 am, September 7th, 2022**

**Marco Bodt**

The moment I wake up I could easily trick myself into thinking that I just got run over by three consecutive trains _._ I feel like _crap._ Now, I don’t know if it’s just all my time around Jean, but that’s the only way I can describe it. Pure _crap._

I groan, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and sit up, immediately regretting it when my vision blurs and my head decides to go for a swim. Early morning sun streams through the cracks in the curtains but the room is otherwise dark, light blocked by the thick curtains. Well, SURVEY didn’t come to abduct us overnight, so I’ll take that as a plus.

I rub my neck- now that everyone's collars are off, there's is a noticeable red mark on everyone's necks where they took our blood samples every morning (except for mine, of course)- not to mention the ring of pink where the collar chafed every day. I imagine it might scar on the other's skin.

It’s with a rustle of fabric that I spot Historia sitting on the kitchen counter, parting the curtain with her fingers and looking into the backyard, warm light spilling onto her face, giving her a healthy glow, unlike the _glow_ you’d get in the facility always under the fluorescent lights.

As if she can feel my eyes on her, she turns, smiling in my direction. “Good morning,” she greets, voice hushed but not as croaky as it was yesterday.

“Good morning,” I whisper right back. Shifting, I’m about to stand to _try_ to hobble into the kitchen when I realize that there’s someone sleeping on the floor next to me, and I barely stop in time to avoid stepping on Jean. I slowly put my legs back on the couch. I guess I don’t need to get up right now. 

With a start, I notice that my calf and ankle are swaddled with bandages- real bandages. Oh. I thought that was a dream. My eyes dart back to Jean’s sleeping form, eyebrows furrowing when I realize he doesn't have a blanket; only a pillow and the hard ground. I grab the blanket that I _definitely_ didn’t fall asleep with and lay it over him. 

Historia giggles. “He cares about you, you know.”

I startle. “... I mean yeah, he cares about all of us.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and swings her legs off the counter so they’re hanging in the air. “ _No,”_ she says, dragging the word out. “He cares about you _a lot._ Like, _adores_ you, I’d say.”

He… does?

I try to grapple for a response but when I open my mouth no words come out. She snorts. “He used to be all-“ she makes a face like she just bit into a lemon “- but not since you showed up, so you wouldn’t know.”

I narrow my eyes, vision sliding back down to Jean’s sleeping form against my will. 

“Don’t worry,” Historia laughs, “I’m not jealous. When you can’t ask questions you just learn to be observant.” She kicks her feet a little, eyes wandering through the house.

“Where's Ymir?” I ask, because I can’t think of anything else to say and I want to direct the conversation away from myself before the warm feeling in my stomach can grow any larger.

“Still sleeping like a log, I’m afraid,” she chuckles. “It’s only…” She checks the clock on the stove, “6:47. I can’t blame her, first time she’s been able to sleep in for years. I’ve always been an early riser.” 

I remember that she was number 004 as opposed to, say, Ymir’s 008- she must have been there since she was quite young.

“... You remember? Before, I mean,” I venture, hoping that I’m not crossing a line.

She shrugs. “One memory- my earliest memory, after that- nothing. It was-” she brakes off, hiding her laughter in her hand, “I was watching The Incredibles on a crappy hospital TV while my little brother was being born- do they even still play that movie?” I nod, a smile playing on my lips but she's not looking at me. “God, it's funny, I don’t even remember my brother’s _name_ but for some reason I can remember that movie so vividly…” Her smile slowly fades from her face to not something sad, but… nostalgic. “Sorry, I’m going on about myself. Haven’t gotten to talk about myself, like, ever.”

She sighs, looking at me in the eyes for the first time in our conversation. “It’s ironic, is it not? They didn't use the same words but that was basically about Deviants, right?” She leans back on her hands, shaking her head as if she can’t believe it. “They’ll make them _superheroes,_ they’ll make them someone to look up to, but when someone like that appears in real life, they’re treated like a freak of nature, as if they’re not even human- like they’re just a science experiment. Why do they do that?”

I bite the inside of my lip, turning back to my feet. I don’t have an answer for her. “I… I don’t know. I guess it’s just hard to idolize them when they’re real people. Easier to pretend they’re not, I guess.”

She looks at me thoughtfully for a long moment, so long that I think she’s not going to answer. “I like you, Marco.”

I tilt my head, bemused. I mean I hope so.

“I’ll admit, at first I thought you’d be broken down real quick, you seemed that type, but I underestimated you.” She laughs. “I guess I should've known, though, I mean the very first thing I saw you do was hit Annie with a baseball bat.”

I chuckle, only a little uncomfortably. “There's...” I struggle for the words for a moment and Historia looks at me expectantly. “There's no hard feeling there, right? Annie doesn't hate me?”

She laughs, a sudden sound. “No, no you don’t have to worry about that. Annie’s scary to everyone who isn't Reiner or Bertholdt, even me, and I’ve known her for a long time. We used to have to share everything when we were the only two girls.”

However stupid it may sound, that takes a bit of weight off of my chest. 

Her eyes dart to my right. “Speak of the devil.”

With perfect timing, Annie walks in from the connected sitting room, in the process of tying her hair up. She doesn’t cast either of us a glance, just brushes past Historia and opens a cabinet to get a glass and starts to fill it under the sink.

“You can, uh, get better water from the dispenser on the fridge,” I say, careful to keep my voice down.

She turns off the tap and looks at me questionaly. “Better water?” she asks as if it were a foreign concept.

“Uh, yeah, tastes better than tap water at least. There's ice too.”

She looks at me suspiciously but moves to the fridge anyway, sticking her cup under the dispenser and pressing against the ice lever. Her eyes follow every cube that falls. It never occurred to me how much everyday _stuff_ just didn't exist in SURVEY.

She deems it drinkable and downs half the glass before moving back to the cabinet to grab two more cups, filling them up and gathering them in her arms before marching back to the sitting room- this time giving me a parting nod. I can’t help but feel validated.

Historia watches her go. I look back to her. “What- um, what is going on between them? Her and Reiner and Bertholdt, I mean.”

Historia shrugs again. “They’ve been real close for as long as I've known them. Not counting Farlan who was older, they were the first Deviants there who were kids, so kind of latched onto each other I guess. They’re a bit older than me so there was a good few years between when they were taken and I was, and then Isabel and Eren came not long after so they stayed kind of secluded from us.”

Isabel and Farlan- the ones that were killed. Historia must see something on my face because she continues.

“Isabel would’a liked you,” she says, a faint smile passing over her face. “She was a late bloomer like you so she and Farlan were kind of like our older siblings- even Levi took a liking to them.” 

My eyes dart down to Jean who has yet to move an inch. It feels a little… wrong to be talking about them next to him, even though it really shouldn't be- they were just people, not some forbidden subject.

“Anyway,” she sighs. “Doesn't matter now. How do you feel?”

Up until that point I managed to entirely forget about the throbbing itchiness in my leg. “I’m... I’m alright,” I say, breath shuddering only a little. Pulling my knee to my chest, I run a light hand over the bandages. Jean did them well.

Before long, the rest of the house begins to awaken, and it’s only a few minutes after Mikasa emerges into the living room that Jean jerks awake with a snort, cringing when he sits up too fast. He looks at me almost disbelievingly out of the corner of his eye. “ _God,_ you morning people.”

“Head rush?” I ask, amused, deciding to ignore the jibe.

He nods jerkily before he seems to _actually_ notice me and the fog clears from his eyes. “How are you feeling? Are you okay? You had a fever last night-”

“It’s okay, I’m not made out of glass,” I inject, grabbing his wrists to stop him from fussing over me the second he woke up.

He scowls and sends me a look that says _I’ll be the judge of that_ and yanks his hand from my grip and presses his palm to my forehead anyway. He compares my temperature to his a few times before standing with an expression of vague suspicion, like I’m somehow lying about my temperature. “You're fine right now.”

Suddenly, there's a clatter from the kitchen that catches both of our attention.

“Um, what the hell are you doing, Connie?” Jean asks, a hint of incredulity to his voice.

“Making breakfast, duh,” he replies, wrestling a pan from a drawer next to a bowl of dry pancake mix.

“You. Making breakfast.” Jean deadpans. 

Connie shoots him an exasperated look. “The only functional human being here is on bed rest, I’m doing my best here- people eat pancakes, right? That's normal.”

Sasha, as if sensing the promise of food, immediately appears in the kitchen, loudly announcing that she’ll help.

Jean turns back to me, shaking his head. “Does it hurt?” I open my mouth to say it's not too bad but he interrupts me immediately. “ _Honestly_.”

I sigh, defeated. “Yeah, a bit. More itchy than anything.”

His lips pull to the side. “Maybe there's some of… um… those painkillers...” he snaps his fingers, searching for the word.

“Ibuprofen?” I offer.

“Ibuprofen, that's it. I’ll see if there's some here.”

“Wake up Eren and Armin too, they don't want to miss these bomb-ass pancakes I’m about to make,” Connie says, pouring entirely too much water into a bowl- perfect if by pancakes he means flour soup.

Jean rolls his eyes but heads down the hall anyway, muttering something about the ridiculousness of ‘bomb-ass’ as a saying.

I sit back against the couch’s armrest, content to listen to the various light-hearted conversations starting as more people amble into the living room- Even Annie does, followed by Reiner and Bertholdt, and Ymir, who had grumpily awoken ten minutes ago, wraps an arm around Historia’s waist, nuzzling into her hair.

I still feel like crap- that hasn't changed, but… this is nice. I like this. I haven't felt at _home_ like this since the day before I suddenly sprouted wings. Not that this replaces the feeling of family I got back home, no, not at all, but this is just... a different type. I wish I could sit back and bask in it, but I’m a bit… tense at the moment.

Or, at least, it _was_ nice until there is a muffled exclamation down the hall and the loud _bang_ of a door being slammed shut. The chatter cuts short and all eyes turn to the hallway.

I raise my eyebrows when Jean emerges in the doorway, wide-eyed and a faint blush dusting his cheeks. He opens and closes his mouth a few times but no words come out. Finally, he opts for silence and trudges the rest of the way into the room, tossing me the bottle of Ibuprofen. I catch it but I don't take my eyes off of him.

“Well?” Ymir prompts. “What was that?”

Jean shakes his head, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he looks truly speechless. “Armin… and Eren... _What?”_

My eyebrows have migrated halfway up my forehead at this point. “Armin and Eren what?”

He looks like he just walked in on something horrible. “They were like, full-on making out- _Christ_ I’m never going to be able to unsee that.”

Ymir splutters. “ _Really?”_

“I _wish_ I was joking. I mean come on, Armin can do so much better than him.”

Connie snorts. “Not like he has many options- whose he supposed to go for, _you?”_

Jean wrinkles his nose. “ _No,_ of course not, but still… _Eren?_ Are none of you as surprised about this as I am?”

“You’re just jealous he’s getting some and you aren’t,” Sasha says through a mouthful of… _something,_ more concerned with her food than the drama.

Jean crosses his arms petulantly. “No, I’m not.”

“All I’m saying is...” Sasha continues, “that I bet you could too, if you just asked the right person.” 

Ymir snickers.

Jean narrows his eyes. “What the hell's that supposed to mean?”

Sasha just rolls her eyes and sends me a look that reads: _Can you believe this guy?_ Except I’m not quite sure what she’s going on about either. 

“Ugh, never mind. You guys are useless,” she says, turning back to the kitchen counter, just in time for Eren to walk in, Armin tiptoeing not far behind. 

“Not a word,” Eren growls, eyes settling on Jean last. 

He huffs but shrugs innocently.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Well, the pancakes _could_ be worse. I mean, they could also be much better, but they aren't the _worst_. Connie cooked them remarkably well for someone who hasn't cooked anything in at least six years- though I wish I could have helped, I don’t like sitting around uselessly. Sasha certainly seemed to enjoy them at least, especially after she found the maple syrup.

The Ibuprofen has done its job and kept my fever from coming back, though it doesn't stop me from feeling rather pale and shaky, and Jean still has his qualms about me standing up, but he’ll just have to deal with it.

And here, in the middle of the bathroom, lecturing half a dozen seventeen-to-twenty-year-olds how to use a proper shower, at least I’m not useless.

“Red means hot, blue means cold, just turn it whatever direction you prefer it. And try not to use _all_ of Dr. Ral’s soaps, got it?”

There is a chorus of nods and grunts of confirmations and I hobble my way out, letting them argue about whoever goes first. Armin falls into step behind me, and once I collapse back onto the living room couch, I turn to him.

“So… you and Eren, huh? How long has that been going on for?”

Armin blushes a little and hunches his shoulders. “Officially? A little less than a year, but we had never actually, like, _kissed_ before. We didn't want SURVEY to see- and I’m not quite as shameless as Ymir.”

I smile warmly. “Good for you- I’m happy for you.”

He flushes further. “T-thanks. I am too.”

We sit in companionable science for a few long moments. I pick at my fingernails, listening to the voices carrying down the hall. After a minute, Jean emerges and perches himself on the armrest next to me, Ymir walking in not a second later.

“I’ll admit it Armin, I didn’t ping you as gay- and I’m usually pretty good at it,” Ymir says, coming to sit on the coffee table.

“Are you?” Jean asks flatly, raising his eyebrows.

“Pfft yeah- I can tell you right now; Reiner, Eren, _you,_ Marco- ain’t nothing straight about any of you.”

I pause my picking, looking up. 

Jean furrows his eyebrows. “ _Me?”_

Ymir snorts. “I’d be quite surprised if I’m wrong- That's all I’m saying.”

Jeans eyes her, but a moment later something reluctantly contemplative comes over his face. “Guess I never really thought about it…” he grumbles.

“See?” she says, ruffling his hair- which he answers with a protesting splutter. “I’m never wrong.”

“You just said you were,” he points out, smoothing down his hair indignantly.

“Details, details, whatever.” She leans so far back that I fear she’ll fall off the table. “ _Anyway_ , do any of you know where Historia is?” 

“Nope,” Jean says, popping the ‘p’. “Good luck finding her in this _giant_ house.” She flips him the bird but sets off without another word. Armin eventually leaves us as well, saying something about ‘not having seen Sasha for a suspiciously long time’ and I gladly let him go, I’d rather not have to deal with whatever she's gotten herself into.

Jean’s uncomfortable shifting catches my attention. “What’s up?”

He squirms a little, curling and uncurling his hands as he often does. “Was… was Ymir right about you?”

I blink and I can feel my cheeks heat up. “Um, yeah, I’m gay.”

He nods slowly. “Cool... I think I like both.”

I smile at him while ignoring the way my stomach does a flip. “Cool.”

He snorts, but the smile slowly fades away. “I heard some guards talking about Historia and Ymir a while ago… is it true that some people don’t like gay people?”

I breathe in deeply. Well, that's a loaded question- but I guess he wouldn't have much of a concept of societal norms anymore. “... Yeah, there are some… but it’s easier to ignore what they say- they’re wrong anyway.”

He glares at the floor. “People are jerks.”

A laugh forces its way out of my throat, taking both of us by surprise. “Yeah. Yeah, they can be.”

“More like always,” he mumbles.

“I don’t think so, not always,” I contradict, catching his eyes. “Now, I don’t blame you for thinking that, but there are plenty of good people out there, you just have to know where to find them. Like you- you're not too bad.”

He shoots me a sour look. “You're one to talk. If anyone here is a good person it’s you.”

I can already tell this is going to spiral into an endless game of ‘ _no you’_ but I can’t bring myself to stop it before it starts. “You flatter me, but-”

“Nuh-uh,” he interrupts, raising a finger. There it is. “You’re always looking out for people and shit- you're better than all of us.”

“ _Jean,”_ I say, grabbing his raised hand in my own and lightly pushing it down. “Don’t try to tell me you're not the one looking out for us the most.” He opens his mouth to object but this time I cut him off. “Tell me one time I saved all of us…” I pause for effect, ignoring his narrowed eyes. “Yeah, you can’t. But you? _You’re_ the _only_ reason we’re out of SURVEY right now. Yes, the others helped in the execution, but you started it and saved us- we’d all be dead if it weren't for you.”

“But I only ran because they were taking me away-”

I clutch his hand tighter, anger rising in my gut. Not anger at _him_ but anger that he would say that about himself. “Don’t you dare tell me that you only used us to get out, because we both know that's a damn lie. You could've gotten out of there yourself if you really wanted to, and you wouldn't have had to risk going back into the thick of us for us, so don’t even say that.”

He’s watching me with wide eyes, and I suddenly remember that his hand is still in mine so I squeeze it. “Stop blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault- a person can only live with so much guilt.”

He stares at me for just long enough for me to start to feel embarrassed about my outburst, and I can see the cogs turning behind his eyes. I _wish_ I knew what he was thinking. Finally, he deflates and slumps his shoulders.

“... Sorry.”

I sigh. He really shouldn't be apologizing.

“… Thanks,” he adds softly.

I can actively feel my expression soften. Realizing that I’m still grasping his hand, I quickly let go. “Y-yeah.”

I expect awkwardness to linger like a fog around our heads as it always seems to, to shove itself between us, but surprisingly, it doesn't. Heavy, maybe, but not uncomfortable.

“Ugh,” Jean grunts suddenly, looking to the hallway, apparently ready to change the subject- and so am I. “When will I be able to take a shower? Be thankful you don’t have a sense of smell like mine- I smell like shit.”

I snort, and one more look at him brings me to giggles. “Yeah, you kind of do.” It has been quite a few days.

He glares at me. “Shut up, you weren't supposed to agree.”

“Hey, you said it, not me.”

A mischievous glint flashes in his eyes and he wipes a hand down his neck, collecting the dirt and grime stuck there, and before I know it he’s dragging it over my cheek.

“Gross!” I splutter, trying to fight him off to no avail. “Don’t you know it’s not honorable to attack a wounded man?”

He just laughs and reaches for me again, somehow evading my grasping hands. “Good thing I’m not an honorable person then,” he retorts, rendering my one defense useless. Finally done with his work, he sits back, smirking when I wipe my cheek on my shoulder.

“Watch out, Kirstein, I’ll get you back for that,” I threaten, unable to keep the grin from my face.

He simpers, looking much too proud of himself, jumping out of my way when I make a grab for him. “Yeah, I’d like to see you try, _Feathers.”_

“ _Feathers?”_ I ask, mock offended, bringing a hand to my chest. “So that's how it is.”

He yelps when I make another lunge for him- apparently I’m faster than he thought. “Okay okay, Truce?” He asks, raising his hands.

I eye him suspiciously, but he watches me with innocent eyes that I know are not more than a lie. “... Truce,” I agree anyway. He doesn't move immediately, presumably to make sure I’m not lying, then he flops onto the couch next to me. I lean my head back, winded just from that. As I pull my left leg, my bad leg, in front of me, I feel Jean’s eyes on me.

“What are we supposed to do about that?”

I sigh as the light atmosphere disappears, but that little bit of warmth doesn’t leave my stomach. I stare at the bandages blankly. It’s easy to detach yourself from whatever is going down under there.

Jean doesn't take my silence as an answer- not that I expected him to, really. “We can’t just let it sit there and fester, it needs treatment,” he says quietly, but with a bit of bite to his tone. “... You said your mom’s a surgeon?”

I look up at him in surprise, eyebrows curving upwards. “I-It’s not safe-”

“Well, what else are we supposed to do? We can't exactly just walk into any old hospital, and I am _not_ letting some stupid dog bite kill you after all of this.”

I fidget with my hands in my lap, avoiding Jean’s prying eyes. There's nothing more I want to do than go back home, but… is it really safe? They have to be watching- and I _can’t_ risk endangering Mamá or Mina for me, who knows how desperate SURVEY is.

But now Jean is looking at me like that and I can’t let him down, I can’t make him hurt more, and truthfully? I really don’t want to die right now. Say all you want about death not being something to be scared of, because screw that, I’m _terrified_. Terrified of the infection, of how helpless I felt when those bullets rained down on us, those _tiny_ pieces of metal that can end a life in an instant- or over time, which is subjectively _worse_. Terrified of _dying,_ really. Maybe I’m not scared of being dead, nothingness can’t be too bad- or maybe the Christians or Muslims or whoever were right and there _is_ an afterlife, but either way, I’m not planning on finding out for quite a while.

I screw my eyes shut, nodding acceptingly. “... Maybe. But only if I’m sure it won't backfire on them- or us,” I say slowly, finally meeting his eyes.

Jean’s lips pull into a faint, crooked smile. “Alright. Cool. Then we’ve got a plan… Feathers.”

I shove him and he falls over, laughing.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I manage to grab a very, _very_ refreshing, and blessedly _private_ shower before my fever comes back with vengeance and I go back to feeling like I was run over by a truck. A big truck, like Hannes’ eighteen-wheeler. Yeah, something like that. I try to take more Ibuprofen, but it doesn't make much difference, so I just hope that the fever will burn its way out of my system, however unlikely that may be. 

On the couch, _my_ couch by this point, I pile blankets on top of me but the cold that has sunk into my very core doesn’t relent and I’m left shivering so hard my teeth chatter. The only warm part of my body is my left leg, the contrast bordering painful even if it weren't for the bone-deep ache. 

After another impromptu meal made of various food items we (or they, really) could scavenge from the kitchen, night had fallen again. How many days will go by like this? Wake up- eat- mosey around doing nothing- eat- traipse a bit more- sleep. We’re still enjoying our newfound freedom too much for it to feel repetitive yet, but after a week of this, I expect that the more antsy ones like Eren and Connie will be bouncing off the walls.

At least Armin and Eren don't have to be quiet about their relationship anymore- it’s pretty sweet watching them openly fawn over each other in their own little ways. I'm happy for them, truly, but here, shivering so hard it hurts, I’m finding it a little hard to concentrate.

Jean helped me change my bandages again, and it’s not a pretty sight. I still don’t get why an infection in my _leg_ has to give me a fever everywhere else, but I guess life likes to make things as hard as possible sometimes.

We’ve yet to tell the others about our plan; that Jean and I will drive to my house tomorrow using Dr. Ral’s truck we’d found in the garage (or is it her husband’s?), hopefully avoiding SURVEY’s many eyes. I’m sure most of them won't be all that happy about it, but they’ll let us go- I know they will.

Speaking of the others, they have found more comfortable places to sleep tonight; the chairs in the sitting room, the loveseat in one of the bedrooms, a nest made of throw pillows, but Jean managed to drag up a sleeping bag from the garage to lay next to the couch, so we’re the only two in the living room tonight.

And he looks like he’s seriously considering beating me to death with a pillow. 

“It's _fine,”_ I assure, dragging the word out. “It’s just the fever- another blanket won't make a difference.” I would gesture towards the two quilts and a plushy fleece blanket draped over me, but to do that I would risk disrupting my little cocoon of warmth.

“You don’t _look_ fine.”

“Wow- your observations- they _astound_ me, really.”

“Don’t get all smart-ass on me,” he says, flopping onto the other side of the couch and sinking into the red cushion. “I think you're spending too much time around Connie, he’s rubbing off on you.”

“If anyone’s rubbing off on me it's you,” I say through a strangled yawn, immediately cringing at myself. That didn't sound great. Jean, though, doesn't seem to catch the accidental innuendo- ah, sweet, innocent child who has never spent more than five minutes on the internet.

He scoffs and shrugs in a _whatever_ sort of way, and I _think_ he thinks that I can’t see his eyes darting to me every three seconds, presumably to make sure I haven't suddenly keeled over and died, so I let it slide. I would be just as worried if our positions were reversed- actually, he's probably handling it better than I would have.

We mutter about everything and nothing for what must be the next two hours, helpfully distracting me from the pain, but after a while my eyelids start to feel like all of Canada took residence on them, the fever quickly draining me of energy. Jean notices, but I catch him by the wrist when he starts to slide himself off the couch and out from under the blankets that he had wiggled under at one point.

“No. Stay.” 

He looks at me in surprise, lips parted, but compiles, slowly leaning back against the cushions. “Okay.”

I nod sleepily, too tired to be embarrassed at my clinginess, almost falling into a doze just sitting there, but I can feel his warmth beside me, cutting through the fever, not like a sharp knife but in a gradual way, like the beginnings of a campfire.

Jean sighs and I can feel his worry in the tremor. “You need to lay down, though. You look like you're about to pass out,” he says, making room for me and kicking some of the blankets away, the tiny amount of warmth I managed to gather quickly dissipate in the air. I shudder. “C’mon, Drama Queen,” he whispers, wrapping the blankets over my shoulders. _Hah- I taught him that one._

I hiss when my knee touches his leg. “God, you’re _warm_.”

He sighs as if I’m putting some great burden on his shoulders, though I know it’s all an act - he's not as good a liar as he thinks he is (“caring about people doesn't make you weak”, I've told him probably three times on three separate occasions, yet he can't seem to get that through his head). “C’mere then.”

I raise an eyebrow as best I can. He looks at me expectantly, gesturing to the open space beside him. He _is_ warm… that overrides any awkwardness as far as I’m concerned. I go ahead and comply- too tempting an offer to turn down.

Positioning my wings is a bit like trying to fit a piece of a jigsaw puzzle into a Rubik’s cube, but I make it work, and once it does, I’m not ashamed to admit that I feel _so_ much better, and only some of it’s the extra warmth. 

“This okay?” he whispers.

I curl my fingers into his shirt. “Yeah. This is okay.”

The lingering tenseness in my muscles immediately melts away as quickly as it came, and I can’t help but curl into him when another bout of shivers rack my body. I’m careful to keep the bulk of my weight off of Jean, I am bigger than him after all, but there's only so much you can do to squeeze two pretty-much-grown men on one sofa, but that's alright. I’m more comfortable than I have been in ages.

I rest my cheek on his chest, feeling his breathing, and slowly, almost hesitantly so, Jean puts a hand on my shoulder and rubs comfortingly. I breathe deeply, letting my eyes fall shut.

We lay like that in the silence and almost pitch-black darkness for what could have been five or thirty minutes, I’m not sure- my sense of time is a bit skewed right now, before Jean suddenly takes in a shuddering breath that I can feel in his chest.

“I’m a Red-class Deviant,” he mutters flatly.

My eyes flutter open. “Oh. Okay.”

He relaxes back against the cushions, this time curling his hand into the back of my shirt, and we don't speak another word for the rest of the night.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I’m not sure what wakes me. Maybe it’s the soft, almost silent patter of bare-footed footsteps, or maybe my months under Dr. Hangi’s _care_ taught me to sense when there's a presence around, but either way, when I open my eyes and turn my head, I see Annie in the kitchen, once again filling a glass of water.

I follow her with my eyes but she doesn't even spare me the usual unimpressed eyebrow raise as she walks past, face the picture of sternness. She makes a beeline for the sitting room (why do houses have so many rooms?) and I, after checking to make sure Jean is still asleep, delicately extract myself from his grip, taking a blanket with me as my fever has yet to break. I trail after her slowly. The clock reads 4:02 am.

I hover in the doorway, squinting to see through the darkness. I can barely make out a trembling figure by the fall wall- Reiner if I’m not mistaken, and that's Bertholdt crouched next to him. I can pick out small mutterings about _SURVEY_ and _loyalty_ whispered from under Reiner’s breath but he doesn't seem… all there.

Annie unceremoniously stops at his feet and pours the water over Reiner’s head. Oh- I thought she had gotten it for him to drink.

It seems to snap Reiner out of it, though, and he looks around wildly before seemingly realizing where he is and curling deeper into himself.

“You shouldn't be up,” Annie says, still staring down at Reiner but I know she's talking to me. “Infections are not to be messed with.”

“At this point I don’t think it will make all that much of a difference.”

She hums, taking a step back from Reiner and giving him his space.

“... What happened?” I ask.

“Withdrawals from his meds,” she explains flatly. “He’s rebounding- going cold turkey after nine years isn’t easy.”

“... Is there anything I can help with?”

“No.”

I bite the inside of my lip, nodding slowly even though she can’t see. Casting one last look in her direction, I turn around- she clearly doesn't want me here, but I stop in my tracks when she speaks up.

“I heard you guys talking earlier- that your mother is a surgeon.”

I glance at her over my shoulder. “... Yeah.”

“You going to go?”

I stay silent, staring at the swirls in the hardwood floor.

“Seems to me you got a choice,” Annie says anyway. “Either go to your home, get your mother to help you, but potentially risk her, your family, and _them-”_ she nods behind me “-because I know the others won't let you and Jean go off on your own, _or,_ you can die, _without_ risking anyone.” She laughs hollowly to herself. “Actually, I don't think you really have the choice- the others would rather turn themselves back into SURVEY than let you die.”

“But not you?”

“Not me.”

Fair enough.

She looks back at me and scoffs. “You _know_ that infection will kill you if you leave it untreated- even Armin’s magic can’t fix it. But if you go to your mother for help, you’ll probably lose the leg, but if she's any good, you’d survive.” 

I think this is more words than I have heard her speak in the last six months combined. I look down at my feet, hugging the blanket tighter when the chills come back. I do quite like my leg. “... What about you guys, will you come?”

Annie shrugs, half turning towards me. I can’t tell if it's a display of openness or guardedness. “If Reiner refuses to stay behind then I’ll go with. But it depends who's speaking for him, really. Half of him won’t want us separated, the other half _really_ won’t want us separated, but for the wrong reason.”

That's a bit… ominous. “And you can…?”

“What, control him?” She asks. “Think so.” A few feet to her right Bertholdt is rubbing Reiner’s shoulder, eye darting between us.

I think I’m going to have to be selfish for this one. I refuse to die without seeing Mina again, she can't go her whole life thinking I just ran away or disappeared or whatever the hell they said happened to me.

I give her a short nod that she doesn't return. Dismissing myself, I limp from the sitting room and Annie lets me go. Every harsh movement I make sends my vision swimming so I collapse onto the couch as softly as I can without waking Jean. He hasn't moved an inch. I bundle close to him, taking deep, calculated breaths, suddenly more tired than I have been in days- I didn't think that was possible.

In the morning, I can convince the others to stay behind- they don't all have to risk themselves for me.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

“No way, we can't let you go off on your own- if one of us goes down we all go down together,” Connie says resolutely, crossing his arms as if daring me to say otherwise.

Eren looks less than thrilled about that concept but doesn't interrupt.

I sigh. I really don’t have the energy to fight him on it right now. Luckily, Jean speaks for me.

“Y-you guys don't have to come with us, really. We’ll be fine.”

“Nope,” Connie says, turning to me. “Besides, I wanna meet the sister that you won't stop talking about.” 

I smile weakly, leaning my head against the wall in the back of Dr. Ral’s truck. I _would_ feel bad about taking her truck, but, as Jean said, we need it more than her at the moment.

“I want to be there in case I can help,” Armin says.

“If he’s going, I’m going,” Eren declares. Mikasa stands behind him in an obvious ‘ _If they’re going so am, because someones gotta watch them’_ sort of way.

Reiner already announced that he’s coming (“We’ve been together for the majority of our lives, so why split up now?”), so Annie and Bertholdt are too. This is a mess, really, though it would be a lie to say I don’t appreciate the sentiment.

“Well,” Jean says, throwing his hands up. “The car isn't big enough for _all_ of us, so someone’s gotta stay behind.

“We will.” I look up in surprise at Ymir, who shrugs under my gaze. “Historia and I will hold down the fort while you're gone.”

“Oh,” is all Jean says, suddenly subdued. “W-will you guys be okay?”

“Yeah, there's enough food here to last a while, especially now that the pig is leaving.” She gestures at Sasha, who sticks out her tongue in response. Ymir sighs. “I’m tired of running. I think it would be best if us two stay here for now.” Historia nods in quiet agreement.

A silence falls over the group. 

“Well, come on then,” Reiner says, clapping his hands to get our attention, seemingly fully recovered from last night- he didn't even mention it, and Annie and Bertholdt are pretending like it hadn't happened. “We can’t wait around here forever.”

“But don’t forget about us,” Ymir shouts after us after we start to load into Dr. Ral’s truck. “If we don’t see your ugly mugs in a few weeks we’re gonna come looking, so don't think you’re safe.” She raises a threatening finger.

I chuckle. “Goodbye Ymir.”

“Bye Marco,” she says with a rare, genuine half-smile, before moving to punch Jean in the shoulder and say something threatening into his ear.

Historia wraps me up in a tight hug, mindful of my leg. “Take care of them, okay Marco?”

I hug her back. “I promise.”

She smiles softly.

Eventually, after everyone said their goodbyes, the back door of the truck is slammed shut and Reiner, with the keys he found hanging by the door, starts the truck with a splutter of its engine.

“How long is it going to take?” Jean asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“About seven hours,” I mumble. Now that the excitement is over with, I’m back to feeling generally crappy.

The drive passes in a blur, and I only really move to occasionally look out the window and give Reiner directions, gradually getting less vague as we get closer to my hometown.

I’m _sticky_ with sweat after only the first hour, and by the second the familiar fog of sickness hangs over me and clouds my head, settling behind my eyes as a dull ache. It’s like having the flu, except the nausea only comes when I look down at my leg or accidentally bump it with my other foot while trying to get comfortable (even though I know it's never going to happen). By the third hour, everything hits me at once like a freight train and I’m left reeling. Guess it’s good we left when we did.

We stop once for a refill of gas at some mostly-abandoned Chevron. Actually getting that gas involved an invisible Annie and a bewildered Gas Station attendant, but we got back on the road quickly enough.

At some point I end up with my head in Jean’s lap, I know that much, but once my fever comes back it becomes too much work than it’s worth to keep my eyes open as I’m a little preoccupied trying to keep my teeth from rattling out of my skull, so the rest of the world kind of disappears.

I want to do nothing more than just fall asleep, to finally catch a break, but I have to stay awake as I am currently acting as their only GPS.

The seven hours pass in an instant and an eternity at the same time, an insternity if you will, and soon, when Jean helps me sit up to see through the windshield, I’m greeted with the welcome sight of the familiar buildings off the 8, less than ten minutes from my house. I smile weakly.

“Where do we get off?” Reiner asks.

I direct them to my street and we park down the road. There's only so much we can do, but we just have to hope that SURVEY’s eyes are still directed towards Flagstaff. I lean back on my elbows, shaking my head to clear the fuzziness from my ears.

Jean shifts nervously. “Which one is it?” he asks gently. 

“7902, white with a red roof, won’t miss it.” God, I’m tired. My lungs feel like they’re stuffed with cotton. I curl my wings tighter under me. I should be excited- over the moon, really, but I'll alow the anti-climax for now. I can be happy later.

Jean nods slowly, looking through the front window. “... I’ll go knock on the door, I guess… wait here.” He throws his hood up to hide his face and clambers out through the back door, closing it behind him with a dull thud.

I want to watch him to make sure he’s okay, to maybe get a glimpse of my family, but I can’t work up the energy to haul myself to the window, so I let out a deep, shuddering breath and let my head fall back against the truck bed, blinking slowly at the ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter needed way more editing but I’m much too lazy to try to fix it.
> 
> We’ve got Eremin now, everybody! If it isn't your cup of tea, I understand, I sprung it without warning, but I promise it's for a reason becauseIlikemakingthingssad. And hey, this (most likely) marks about the halfway point of the fic, yay! Sorry that this chapter is the shortest one since chapter 2, but this just seemed like the natural stopping point.
> 
> I’m sure my portrayal of the dog bite infection is not 100% accurate, but I did as much research as I could and tried to work the story around that, so forgive me if there are some errors, I’m not an expert, nor have I experienced it first-hand. 
> 
> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!


	12. From an old clothesline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100k words already???? Damn! For a first fanfic ever I’d say that's not half bad. Ha, remember the days I said this would end at around 110k-130k? Yeah… that's not happening.
> 
> Sorry about the lack of an update last week, I didn't have electricity for a few days which meant I couldn't write (er- type), so here, have this absolutely MASSIVE 14k chapter to make up for it. This was going to be way longer, but I still had to finish the last scene which meant I wouldn’t get it out until next week, so I… shaved the last 5k words from it because decided a 20k chapter out of nowhere would be jarring. Take your time with this one folks, this is the last break you’ll have for a while ;)
> 
> Warning: implied/referenced suicide (but not really)

**10:52 pm, September 7th, 2022**

**Jean Kirstein**

  
  


The last time I saw my family was also the day I broke my sister’s arm and got shipped off to SURVEY.

Even now, that evening stays hanging in the forefront of my mind, nothing but blurry images and muffled sounds, yet it only takes the slightest thought or reminder to once again have it playing behind my eyes like a movie you’ve seen one too many times. I’d like to say I can remember the words that I know my parents shouted before they called 911 on me, but I can't.

Eleven-year-old me, feeling sick all day, confused about why things seemed to be moving on their own. 

Nine-year-old Cami, Camille if you were a stranger, running into my room and finding me screaming on the floor after my Deviance suddenly manifests, leaving me practically blind for a time and in excruciating pain. Cami, reaching towards me to help, only to have all of the bones in her arm shatter after, in my panic, I reached out with my newfound power and _squeezed._

Then we were both on the floor screaming, and that's how Mom and Dad found us.

Mom immediately reached for her phone, calling 911 because her daughter's arm is bent in three different ways and her son looks to be having a seizure on the floor. Dad, however, had tucked Cami into his elbow and stared at me as I was withering like a man possessed- or boy, really.

They kept Robin away from the worst of it. I don't know how he looked at me as I was carried into an ambulance by paramedics, whimpering like a kicked cat. Still, I can imagine the bewildered _confusion_ that must have been written all over his face, open as a book, watching his big brother and sister carried into separate ambulances, brother much more urgently.

I know I knocked a paramedic over- sending her skidding halfway down the street, and I want to hear the excuse SURVEY came up for _that_. A defenseless kid somehow managing to shove a grown woman tumbling back fifteen feet without the use of his hands- yeah, that's a story.

The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with me, and I was certainly no help, still trying to claw my newly-sensitive eyes and ears out, gasping through my mouth to avoid smelling the sterile doctor’s office air that would become all-too-familiar.

I roll my shoulders, joints clicking loudly in the silence.

I’m not sure about Mom, but I know Dad knew I had somehow broken Cami’s arm. Still, I never got to explain because not long after they got me to the hospital, SURVEY found me in the form of a nurse. I was dragged kicking and screaming from my room- at least, until someone jammed a needle in my neck and I suddenly woke up strapped to a bed at SURVEY headquarters, getting shocked by my new collar the second I tried to test out my new power that took the form of tension in my hands.

That tension is still there now, brewing under my skin like unused muscles, but unnoticeable unless I’m looking for it. 

I can feel that tension as I raise my hand to knock on the homey wooden door, blue paint chipped in one corner, a spider web hanging on the top-left of the frame, a wiggling fly cocooned in it.

We’re all dead men and women to this world now.

Biting the inside of my lip, I push back the memories and shoot a last look at the truck parked down the road, illuminated by a yellow streetlight against the otherwise dark street. Night falls quickly these days. I gather myself. Marco hasn't got time to delay, he seemed… pretty out of it these last few hours, present enough to let me drag him up every hour or so for directions but not much more than that. Selectively lucid, I’d call it.

Heart beating in my throat, I hesitate to knock on the door. It’s not that I’m _frightened-_ not that extreme, but my internal organs _do_ feel like they’re twisting themselves into knots, and my brain? Gone. Disintegrated.

I give myself a mental slap in the face and rap on the door. I’m met with nothing but silence for a few infinite seconds before I can make out a faint shuffling behind the door. She’s no doubt wondering who the hell would be knocking on her door an hour before midnight, but hopefully the confusion will make her answer.

When the door opens, I see no one. I furrow my eyebrows. “Um-”

Someone clears their throat below me. I look down, and sure enough, there's a little girl squinting at me through the crack in the door.

“What do you want?”

I blink. This must be his sister. I didn't expect her to still be up. “Umm, is your mom around?”

As if summoned, there's another pair of footsteps to her left. “Mina! What have I said about answering the door? You’re supposed to be asleep anyway-”

She pauses when she spots me, raising her eyebrows. Shooing Mina away, who leaves with a huff and one last side-eye in my direction, the woman opens the door a little wider- wide enough to comfortably speak to me, at least.

“... Yes?” She asks when I don’t immediately start talking, leaning a little further out of the cracked doorway. 

I realize I probably should've thought about what I’m going to say.

I’ve got a few inches on her, though her tied-up black hair gives her a bit of height. A few wavy strands hang over her face, which she brushes behind her ear. I can immediately see the resemblance between her and Marco- he obviously takes after his mom. The same freckles, same nose, same eyes that are looking at me questioningly, growing more suspicious with every passing second that I stay quiet.

I scramble for words, mouth opening and closing like a fish, every letter I've ever known getting thrown uselessly to my feet. Should I introduce myself? Would it be rude to cut to the point? Does it really matter if I’m rude right now? “... We’ve got Marco,” I finally blurt. Maybe not the best way to start, but it’s better than standing there like an idiot.

Her eyes widen. “Wha-“

“He needs help,” I continue before she inevitably freaks out. “You need to let us in- no one can see us. Just trust me, okay?”

She stares at me with an unreadable expression. “You have Marco,” she repeats plainly, a hint of an accent curling around the edges.

I nod furiously. “Yeah, and his leg is fu- messed up, and he said that you're a surgeon and might be able to help.”

She opens the door wider at that, bewildered, but a bit of hope sparking in her eyes. Taking that as an invitation, I turn and nod at the truck. Her eyes follow it as it lurches into motion and stops in front of the driveway. I search for any security cameras on neighboring houses or street lights but find none.

Reiner jumps out of the driver’s side door and rounds the vehicle, popping open the back door.

This poor woman, about to suddenly get ten new additions forcibly injected into her household- though, considering we have Marco, I somehow doubt she’ll mind very much.

Reiner crawls in the back to retrieve Marco, and I almost run to assist until I remember that Reiner could squat my weight twenty times over and really doesn't need my help, so I stay planted on the doorstep, glancing at Marco’s mom who is paying me absolutely no mind.

Reiner overestimates how heavy Marco is and almost sends them both sprawling when he heaves him up too hard, to which Marco giggles something about hollow bones under his breath. 

“Marco,” she breathes, barreling past me and down the steps, pausing in front of Marco as if she can’t believe he's right there in front of her- not that I blame her.

The fog in his eyes clear and he smiles weakly. “H-hey, Ma-”

She wraps her arms around his neck before he can finish, tugging him down to meet her.

“Woah-” he says, legs wobbling like a newborn deer, supported by Reiner who still holds him under one arm but shifts back to give the mom some space. “S-sorry, I’m not feeling great right now.”

She, Mrs. Bodt I guess I should call her, seems to notice his wings for the first time and stares at them, lips parted in shock. 

“Surprise,” Marco says, looking at her through his limp hair that falls over his eyes. She gapes at him.

She shakes her head and looks down at his bandaged leg that he’s currently lifting off the ground as a wounded dog would. “O-Oh my gosh,” she stutters, hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Are you _okay?_ Do you-”

“Ma’am,” Reiner interrupts. “May we come inside? We really shouldn't be out here.”

“Y-yes, of course,” she says, standing to the side to let them pass. She stares at the ground for a second, probably processing what the hell is going on, before running forward, stepping past me and holding the door open for them. The others start to jump out of the car and Mrs. Bodt’s eyes widen further. Yeah, I wouldn't expect for my house to suddenly get crashed by a bunch of on-the-run Deviants either.

Technically I’ve been here before, when I helped… kidnap Marco. Not my proudest moment. But it was dark and stressful and _cold_ and, like, one in the morning so I don’t really remember the specifics. The silent wind chimes hanging limply in the lack of wind to my right for example- don't remember that. Especially not that it’s in the shape of that weird pink bird that I can’t remember the name of for the life of me.

Sasha catches me by the shoulder as she passes me where I’m standing in the doorstep, still trying to process what's currently happening. “Connie’s gonna drive the car somewhere secluded then run back.”

I quirk a brow, watching as the truck jolts backward, almost ramming a trash can. “Can he do it without killing anybody?”

She shrugs, unconcerned. “We’re about to find out I guess.”

He better do it, I don’t want what little cover we have blown because he can't tell the difference between the gas and the brakes.

“It’ll be fine,” Sasha assures, shepherding me through the front door and closing it behind her.

Reiner is helping Marco get settled on the couch, and Mrs. Bodt is watching each of us as we pass, eyes lingering on Annie’s silver skin whenever they aren't turning back to Marco’s wings. I can’t imagine what she must be thinking, to have her night go crumbling down to… whatever _this_ is.

She brushes past everyone and goes to fuss over Marco as she rightfully should. I take in the house around me: a bit more modern than Dr. Ral’s place but nothing fancy. Grey walls, dark wood floors, mismatched furniture, a big sliding glass door against in back wall showcasing a medium-sized backyard with an impressive view of the city, a wide doorway that looks to lead to the dining room and a hallway to my right that must stretch to the bedrooms. I snap myself out of my stupor, turning to face the rest of the room again, finding everyone else trying to make themselves as unobtrusive as possible.

“These are my friends,” Marco introduces rather uselessly. It would be a little weird if we weren't.

Mrs. Bodt immediately sets to unwrapping his leg. “Friends from where, exactly?” she says, not accusing, but with a bit of bite, though I don't think the clipped tone is meant to be directed at him.

I’m beyond impressed at how composed she is. I mean, her supposedly missing son just waltzing on in- okay, maybe he didn't waltz in, got dragged in more like it, but that's objectively worse and only helps my case.

“Umm,” Marco says eloquently. He casts me a look. I shrug. _Tell her whatever you want._

The appearance of his mother perking him up so much that I could almost forget he's rocking nasty fever, Marco apparently decides to start with the basics. “What… um, what were you told happened to me?”

Her lip wobbles, almost imperceptibly, but apparent enough for me to make out with my kind of vision. “They- they said you…” she pauses, collecting a breath. “The police ruled it a suicide. There was a whole funeral and everything.” She sniffs and wipes the corner of her eyes on her sleeve, biting back tears. “But I knew you didn’t- it- it-” She freezes in the middle of unwrapping the last layer of bandages, her eyes narrowing. “I _knew it-_ that short, angry-looking man-”

“Wait- you met _Levi?”_ I blurt, stepping forward. She looks up in surprise.

Sasha leans forward. “Around 5’3, black hair, probably smoking.”

“U-uh, I mean, sounds like the man, yeah,” is all she says, looking between me and Sasha and back to Marco, tears once again forming in her eyes. Pretty impressive she hasn't yet burst out crying after seeing her ‘dead’ son for the first time in six months.

Before I can wonder _when_ the hell she would've met Levi, and _what_ the hell _he_ was doing to let her see him, my attention is caught by the little sister- Mina, emerging from the hallway. She’s in her nightclothes- the same as when she answered the door- but looks wide awake and ready to squash any of us judging by her stance. She blows out a breath. “I’m so confused.”

I can’t hold back a snort at the absurdity.

“Mina!” Marco exclaims as much as he can ‘exclaim’ right now (more of a gravely stage-whisper than anything), holding out his arms.

She stares at him, recognition slowly flooding her eyes. “... Marco?” Her walk suddenly turns into a run (Bertholdt has to jump out of her way) and she throws herself into his arms, tears suddenly running down her face in thick rivulets.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she hiccups, burying her face in his chest. “T-they said you were dead a-and I thought it was because of me-” she breaks off with a small sob.

“No, no no no,” Marco placates, bringing his hands on either side of her head. “I _promise_ nothing was your fault, okay?” He hugs her tighter. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she says, voice muffled.

“Give him some space,” Mrs. Bodt says gently, and Mina reluctantly crawls off the couch. She turns to the others who are hovering around, too afraid to touch anything. “Go make yourselves comfortable- any friend of my son’s can’t be too bad. You all are welcome to stay as long as you need, but right now it would be helpful if you guys cleared out.”

Mikasa mutters her thanks and drags Eren and Armin into the connected dining room, the others following not long after. I don’t think they’re going to comply with the ‘make yourselves comfortable’ part, but they’re clearing out. I’ve decided that it doesn't apply to me though, and I slowly step towards her and Mina.

I’m impressed how efficiently and wholly she throws herself into her work, wordlessly shooing away these people who she’s never met before, face a picture of concentration and hands diligently following her commands as she fully uncovers the wound

Her eyebrows furrow in worry and her eyes widen in shock. “What _happened_?”

“Dog bite,” I answer, sparing Marco who looks like he just ran a marathon with how wiped-out he appears.

She blinks owlishly at it, rubbing her forehead. That's not a good sign.

“... Can you fix it?” I venture, not able keep a little hope from bleeding into my tone.

She sighs heavily and goes a bit pale. “With a wound looking and _smelling_ like this, he needs some serious antibiotics, or he’ll lose the limb, depending on how deep it goes.”

I swallow audibly, trying to clear the sudden lump from my throat. 

“Can you get me the tweezers, Mina?” She asks gently, voice remarkably calm. Mina doesn't seem to hear her, staring blankly at the bites. “Mina,” she tries again, repeating the question. Mina’s eyes flick to her and after a moment she hesitantly steps back and heads down the hall, but not without craning her neck to keep Marco within her sights until she rounds the corner.

Marco leans his head back against the armrest, chest moving up and down just a little faster than would be normal, content to let us work it out. I can’t blame him, I’d have checked out ages ago- that must hurt like hell.

“How long ago was he attacked?” She questions, looking my way but not quite meeting my eyes.

I rack my brain. How long ago was it? “... A few days.” Damn, it feels like _months_ since SURVEY- certainly had a month’s worth of stress. It’s a good thing I don't get stressed easily or I don't know if I’d still be functioning. Mina is digging around in draws in the bathroom, dropping something with a loud _clang._

Mrs. Bodt chews on the inside of her cheek, gladly accepting the tweezers that Mina rushed into the room to bring her. “Go learn all the names of our guests for me, okay?” She tells Mina, steering her away from Marco so she doesn't have to see the admittedly gross laceration.

Mina shots her a look that tells me that she knows exactly what she's doing, but goes anyway.

Marco hisses through his teeth when she probes a bit of swollen red flesh near one of the tooth marks, and I crouch at his side, laying my hand on his arm. Mrs. Bodt shoots me a grateful look. I’m suddenly hit with the memory of him doing the same when Armin was resetting my nose, how he slipped his hand in mine and let me practically crush it. That was so long ago. The least I can do is repay him.

“Was the bone fractured?” Mrs. Bodt asks, narrowing her eyes and peering at the wound. “One of the gashes is deep enough that it's more likely that it was at least scraped, but it _looks_ fine.”

“I have a healing factor…” Marco says without lifting his head.

Mrs. Bodt’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead.

“That is why we didn't immediately try to treat it. I thought I would just heal like normal.”

“But he was walking on it after he was bit, so it couldn't have been too bad,” I say, desperately trying to convince myself that she can fix this.

She hums, unconvinced. “You’d be surprised what people can push through with the right amount of adrenaline in them- we once had a girl come through our door with a cut Achilles tendon. She shouldn't have been able to move her ankle, much less stand, but there she was, walking straight in. Turns out she was in shock, and she fainted not long after, but I digress.” She bites her lip, leaning back on her heels. “The reason I ask is because this is a serious infection, and a fracture in the bone only increases the chances of it getting inside- antibiotics are practically useless once the infection penetrates the bone.”

“Now,” she continues, and I get the feeling she is just thinking out loud by this point. “Fractured bones are not uncommon in dog bites from big dogs, and if it _was_ fractured and then _healed_ too quickly, it’s possible that the infection is already inside.”

“... What can we do, then?” I ask hesitantly. Her lips pull down, and after spacing out for a moment, she jerks her head to the side. _Not here._

I get up and follow her into the hallway. Marco’s eyes lazily follow us but he seems relatively unconcerned.

“What have you done to treat it so far?” She asks.

I tell her; wrapped it, stopped the blood, and put some topical antibiotics on it. She rolls her tongue over her teeth.

“I need to know if it’s reached the bone or not. If it has… losing the leg is a possibility. If it hasn't, we should be able to make do with an antibiotic injection or drip and a month or so of pills but I don't exactly have that laying around, and I can hardly steal a month's worth of antibiotics from the hospital… are you sure we can’t bring him in?”

I nod, stomach churning. “I’m sure. Look-” I start at her unconvinced expression. “We’ve got… people after us- the same people that took him- we _have_ to stay out of sight. Taking him to the hospital will only get us all caught and somehow I doubt they’ll be very kind to us.” I skip over about the part where there's a good chance they might kill everyone but me because they ‘don't need them anymore’ for her sake.

“ _Who_ are ‘they’?” she asks, a look of desperation coming over her eyes. “And _why_ does he have bird wings?”

“Okay,” I say, holding my hands up placatingly. “I’ll explain in greater detail later, but the basics is that we’re- all of us- are what you call Deviants, we have- uh, _superpowers,_ so to say. Wings and healing is Marco’s Deviance- and the people we’re running from collect new Deviants.” I shift my eyes to a little paperweight on a console table to my right. “I have telekinesis and enhanced senses.” I send the paperweight wobbling into the air to make sure she believes me. She stares at it, eyes wide.

“Enhanced senses? What does that mean?” She doesn't take her eyes off of the paperweight until I set it back down.

“It means I can hear what someone is whispering about two rooms away, or see what kind of shoes someone is wearing from a mile back.”

She bites her lip, looking at me through furrowed brows, crossing and uncrossing her arms like she’s not quite sure what to do with them. Her eyes flick upwards, then widen. “Oh my gosh,” she breathes, and my head darts up to see what she's talking about. She raises her hand to touch my neck, presumably where the chafed band of red is, but pulls back at the last second, right before her fingers can brush my skin. Oh. That’s what she noticed. “What happened- what did they do to you?”

“Oh, um, shock collars,” I say plainly. 

Her expression shatters.

I sigh, casting my eyes to the floor. “Look- I’m sorry, we’ve brought quite a crowd into _your_ home, but- umph!”

I stumble backward when I suddenly have an armful of _mom._ I freeze, not quite sure what to do, staring at the wall in front of me uselessly. I've hugged people a grand total of, like, three times, and two of them were from Marco and the other was Sasha when she was trying the guilt me into giving her my dinner, so I’m not exactly experienced in the art of hugging- She pulls away and grabs my rigid arms, forcing me to meet her glistening eyes.

“ _Thank you,”_ she breaths, the smallest of smiles quivering valiantly on her lips. “You could've bought a hundred people in here and it wouldn't matter. Thank you for bringing him home.”

I goggle at her in disbelief before I duck my head, nodding at the floor. I don’t deserve her thanks. We’re just trying to survive.

She shoots me a tight-lipped smile paired with soft eyes. Giving me one last pat on her shoulder, she leaves me to go briskly back to Marco.

And I’m just standing there like an idiot, still reeling. She's… _friendly._ Though I guess I should've expected that considering her son is _Marco_ for God's sake.

“Woah,” the son in question suddenly groans, blinking blurrily, and I’m immediately at his side again. “Oh!” He whips his head around the room and seems to remember where he is.

“Do you know what day it is?” Mrs. Bodt asks carefully.

Marco squints at nothing, eyes distant, before he shakes his head, some awareness coming back to his expression. “Uh…I don't remember. September. Sorry, it's just… a little hard to concentrate right now.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek until it starts to hurt. If only I made him go through that window first, then he wouldn't be suffering like this in the first place. Whatever- it doesn't matter now. It’ll do him no good for me to keep taking this out on myself. 

_Wow_ , Armin would be proud.

“That's okay _Dulzura,_ ” Mrs. Bodt hushes in a distinctly motherly way, grabbing his hand in hers- then freezing, eyes pinned on his wrist. She turns his arm over, uncovering the long, puckered line of scar tissue spanning from his inner elbow to his wrist. I wince. 

She tugs his sleeve up, exposing his shoulder, gasping at the network of thin, calculated scars scattered across his skin, marring the freckles there. Her eyes go wide in shock and her hands tremble, eyes growing wet. “Oh, Marco…” She breaths.

I turn away. I can’t help but feel like I’m invading something private. Deciding to quietly excuse myself, I slink to the kitchen, finding the others either sitting at the table or moseying about. Armin is standing to the side, a book, presumably from the bookshelf next to him, open in his hands.

There's a gaping space where Ymir should be filling, and I half expect to hear some snarky quip from her mouth, but obviously, none come. 

“And _who_ are you?” 

I startle, looking down at the source of the accusing voice. Mina turns her nose up at me.

“... I’m Jean,” I say, to which she responds with silence, regarding me with a suspicious eye. At last, right when I start to wilt under the scrutiny, she seems to deem me acceptable.

“I’m Mina,” she announces. “Are you Marco’s friend?”

I blink at her. “Yeah... I am.”

She crosses her arms, voice growing meeker. “Is he going to be okay?”

I glance nervously behind me. “Yeah,” I assure, leaning down a little. “He’s going to be just fine- I promise.”

She seems appeased by this. “Okay.”

Okay? I expected more questions than that- apparently the word of a stranger is good enough for her- a quality I almost admire. I drag my hand down my face, peeking back at Marco and his Mom; she’s hunched over him and he’s halfway to sitting up, muttering something to her that I choose not to hear.

Man, this is fucked up.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I splash cold tap water onto my face, leaning my elbows on the ceramic countertop, looking up and meeting my own tired eyes in the mirror. I’m greeted with a haggard kid- not so haggard that you’d look twice, but haggard enough to make your gaze linger for one second longer than the usual glance you’d spare for a stranger. Purple eye circles, a sallow look to the skin, chewed blunt fingernails- the usual.

I use two fingers to pull my hair down over my face. It goes almost past my nose now, and my undercut is starting to grow out, the longer layer lying limp on top. I sigh, rubbing at my neck, only making the red ring even pinker, standing out even more obnoxiously against my pale skin. Hopefully that doesn't stick around for too long. Fucking shock collars.

Evidence of family life litters the bathroom; a toothbrush thrown haphazardly next to the sink, an air-freshener in the shape of a songbird plugged into an outlet, half-empty shampoo bottles in the shower, toothpaste stains on the bowl of the sink. It’s weird. In a bad way. I don’t like looking at it. It makes me think of things I’d rather not think about.

I jump when someone bangs on the door, swallowing a sudden lump in my throat.

“Hurry up!” comes Connie’s muffled voice. He gave Mrs. Bodt quite a scare earlier when he zipped into the house unannounced at an inhuman speed after leaving the truck somewhere- some dirt road in a forest, he said. 

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, forcefully injecting fake annoyance in my tone. I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now, but I do know that I don't have room to be annoyed- my mind is much too busy for that.

I release the bathroom to whoever gets to it next, coming to stand in the living room, rather lost. What am I supposed to do? Talk to someone? Nah.

I catch Mrs. Bodt as she strides across the house with purpose, and she stops to look at me.

“Mrs. Bodt-”

She shakes her head, curls bouncing. “Just call me Elisa, hun, we’re equals here.”

I swallow heavily. “Elisa. How- how would you know if the infection reached the bone or not?” 

A pinched look comes over her face and she wipes her hands on her thighs. “It’s hard- usually, at the hospital, we’d do x-rays and blood tests, but I don’t have that here, so we can’t rely on that. Though, frankly, he has more symptoms of either capnocytophaga or osteomyelitis or something of the sort than not, so… I wouldn't put it out of the range of possibilities.”

I clench my teeth, nodding at the ground. I’m not sure what either of those terms mean but an idiot could figure out that neither are good. “Oh.”

She looks around, then back to the door. “I’m going to go to work, is that alright?”

I look up. “Wha- now? It’s almost midnight.” Now I’m no master on outside-world affairs, but I’m pretty sure most people work during the day.

“That's right. My shift at the hospital starts at midnight and goes till seven- can you hold down the fort until then? I’m going to try to find some… stuff that might be able to help,” she explains. “I’ll grab some antibiotics- we’ll try that first. I don't want to do anything rash if all he needs is a good, steady stream of antibiotics.”

I dip my head. “Alright.”

She goes as if to walk away, then stops, slowly swiveling on her heel to face me again. “The people after you… they won't come here, will they?”

I open my mouth before I realize I don't know what to say. I shouldn't lie, right? That could only hurt us in the long run. But I also don’t want to give her false confidence. They might come here, I’m endangering her by even talking to her.

She seems to take my silence as an answer, biting her lip, and this time she's the one nodding at the ground. “I just can’t lose him again,” she says softly.

I feel that. I really do, maybe not in the exact same way she does, but I can no longer imagine _how_ I survived all those years in SURVEY without him- I mean, what did I even do? Did I _really_ just sulk around all day? Sure, that sounds like me, but _really?_

She must see something in my expression because she smiles softly, eyes crinkling at the edges, and firmly tugs me down to plant a kiss on my forehead, before hurrying off to gather her things, leaving me, once again, standing there like an idiot.

The next few hours I spend uncharacteristically helping the others settle down for the night in the most unobtrusive places possible, breaking off every five minutes to check on Marco, who had already fallen asleep, then, a couple hours later, helping him stumble to the bathroom against my better judgment so he could retch into the toilet while I stood watch, hovering worriedly over him the entire time.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

“Why the hell is this bee so fucking happy?” Connie asks, holding up a box of _Honey Nut Cheerios._

Mina smirks devilishly, leaning her elbows on the wooden table. “ _Ha_ , he said _fucking_.”

I can pinpoint the moment Connie realizes his mistake and frantically shushes her. “Don't tell your mom I said that.”

I roll my eyes, finishing rinsing my cereal bowl and leaving Connie to the wolf that is Mina, making my way from the kitchen and down the hall to Marco’s room where he now resides as he had been evicted from the couch. I knock on the cracked open door, pushing it open when I hear a soft ‘come in’

Elisa came stumbling back through the front door an hour or two before, arms full of as many antibiotics, drugs, and tools that she could reasonably hide on her person (“Hospital won't miss a few bottles here and there”). Either she doesn't have the same reservations about stealing as Marco does (unlikely from what I’ve seen of her) or she just doesn’t when it comes to her son (much more likely).

I flare my nostrils, trying to clear my nose of the scent of sickness.

“Well,” I say, taking a few short steps into the room. “You look like shit.” _Smooth Jean. Very smooth._

Luckily, he takes it lightly, and chuckles. “Yeah, I do, don’t I?”

I avert my eyes from his swollen leg that's sitting elevated on a pillow, blisteringly red, purple, and green and inflamed- overall painful looking.

Instead, I let my eyes scan the room; various bottles and needles on the desk next to the bed, grey walls, a bookshelf full of nerdy books, and a closed closest. My eyes eventually come to rest at the window, morning light softly filtering through the blinds, seeing the very same slope and the very same bushes I hid behind all those months ago. So much has changed since then.

Marco sighs, fiddling with some- I tilt my head- black rectangle thing. “Uh- my mom got some antibiotics in me.” He gestures at the packets and bottles spread on the desk beside him. “She said it probably would've been fine if it was treated immediately, but…”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, letting a silence fall over us. I don't really feel like finishing his sentence.

“You know,” he starts, tilting his head a little and looking down on his leg. “I thought I’d be more freaked out about the whole prospect of getting… you know, my leg amputated, but I’m really not. I can survive without it- and besides, prosthetics are a thing, right?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly, nodding. “Then you could be a cyborg.”

He gives me a _look_. “That's probably offensive.”

I bite back a smirk, shrugging, and he smiles a little, looking off to the side.

After a moment of silence, I speak up. “What's that?”

He turns to me questionaly. “What?”

“ _That,”_ I say helpfully, gesturing at the rectangle.

“Oh, it’s my phone,” he explains, lifting it up for me to see.

“A phone?” I repeat, taking it from him and flipping it over in my hands. The screen flicks on and a picture of the stars light up behind a clock. “What the hell kinda phone is this?” I flip it over again, searching for the buttons.

He laughs lightly, a bit tiredly, and reaches his hand out for me to give back to him. “Not that kind of phone. It’s an iPhone- it does way more than just call people. Here, see?”

Before I know it, my shoulder is pressed to his as he walks me through its uses. At least there's Tetris- I know that. Man, the future came fast.

He quiets after a little, and I almost think another wave of sickness is coming over him before I notice that his eyes are still open and alert, just fixated on one app on the phone. He sighs and deflates, sinking down a little lower.

“What is it?” I ask, eyebrows pulling together. “Do you need more pain meds?”

He shakes his head, not taking his eyes off the phone, and hesitantly taps the screen with his thumb, bringing up a list of names. “It’s nothing, just… my friends.”

Friends?

I peek at the screen, not bothering to pretend that I’m not. It looks to be a string of messages.

**_4:15 pm, May 5th_ **

**From Nack: Dude where the hell r u? You better not be skipping out on practice today there's no way ur making me do conditioning by myself :(((**

**From Nack: Shadis is gonna have your ASS man**

**From Nack: I don’t envy u**

**From Nack: Fuck that yes I do this is hell**

This must be one of those friends he was talking about. May 5th; that’s the day we- no, _they-_ took him.

**_11:43 am, May 6th_ **

**From Nack: You good? Must be hella sick to miss two days of school**

**From Nack: Mr. Dawk assigned like three textbooks worth of hw ur grade gonna dropppp**

**From Nack: U missed Hannah and Franz getting busted for skipping class to make out in the halls it was fuckign hilarious**

**From Nack: Hello?**

**From Nack: Ur kinda worrying me man**

My stomach suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. I know where this is going.

**_10:09 am, May 7th_ **

**From Nack: You've got me kinda scared now.**

**From Nack: Respond plz**

The next one isn't for a few days, presumably after SURVEY faked Marco’s suicide.

**_8:19 pm, May 13th_ **

**From Nack: … why didn't you tell me?**

I look down, tapping my fingers on my knee, a dull, mute horror falling over me. That’s so fucked.

Maco exits that conversation and opens another, the texts largely the same; wondering where he is then abruptly cutting off. He throws his phone down with a long sigh, eyelids falling shut as he leans against the headboard of his bed.

“They all think I’m dead,” he mutters, scarily emotionless. “Not just that-” his voice breaks off “-they think I _killed_ myself. God,” he says, rubbing his hands against his forehead. “I’d be in _college_ by now.”

Biting the inside of my lip I rest my chin on my knee and, in a quiet voice, say, _“I’m sorry_.”

In my peripheral vision I can see him frown, hitching himself up straighter. “What for? Not like this is your fault.”

“F- for this.” I don’t think it really needs explaining. He didn't deserve any of this. I hold my feelings in a tangle of strings and nerves and guilt in my (metaphorical) hands, knotted together and confusing. I don’t know _how_ to deal with any of this, but somehow Marco does- outwardly at least.

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything.” He looks me straight in the eye. A small shudder rolls up my spine. How is it that even completely fucked up he can just _look like that?_ I couldn't be that sincere on a good day if I tried.

There's no difference in how he looks now that he’s got real antibiotics flowing through his veins. His skin is pale and cold and clammy and every once and a while he gets the worst case of the shivers that I’ve ever seen, and his bout of nausea in the early hours of the morning obviously took a lot out of him, judging by the dullness of his usually warm brown irises and the pinky-whiteness framing them- yet he’s still just _Marco._ Obviously I’m no poet, but it’s true. He’s just… himself.

He smiles tightly, proving me right, and drags his Chromebook onto his lap. “How about I show you this show I like since I’m feeling alright?”

Alright. I can do that.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

“Jean? _Cielo_?”

“Nngh.”

 _Fuck_ , my neck hurts. I blearily crack an eye open- then I scramble awake.

Elisa is peeking through the door with a sheepish smile. “Sorry to wake you- I was just checking on Marco.”

Right. Marco, shivering and shuddering like a leaf in a gale, tiny whimpers escaping his lips, wing half-covering his face and buried under a mountain of blankets even though his skin is ablaze.

Fuck.

Teetering on my perch on the desk chair, my mind whirls with a flurry of emotions, none of which I’m very good at understanding.

She pads further into the room and comes to sit gently at the edge of the bed, bracing her hand on the mattress to lean over him, worry glittering in her eyes. 

“He any better?” I ask, pulling my feet off of the bed and sitting up straight in the chair that I fell asleep in, working a crink out of my neck.

“Doesn't look like it,” she sighs, maneuvering his leg so it’s once again straight. Marco makes no sound and lets her position him. His breathing tells me he’s awake- at least mostly so, but other than that he seems dead to the world.

Rising, I worriedly press my hand to his forehead but he doesn't seem to notice. He feels the same as he did- I check the clock beside the bed- two hours ago? Geez. I didn't even mean to fall asleep, much less for so long. Anyway, he’s hot, but not dangerously so. 

I shake my head, uncertain of what I’m supposed to do. I wish there was just some magic fix for this, but nothing can be easy.

“I’m glad he has you, you know.”

I look up, and she pulls her eyes away from Marco’s face. “He told me all about where he was taken- well... he skimmed over some parts but I’ve seen enough scars to fill in the blanks. I’m happy he wasn't alone. I can tell you’re a sweet one.”

I flush a little, sitting back on the chair, not quite sure how to respond. Luckily, she doesn't wait for me.

“It’s not right what they did. He said most of you had been there for years… I just want you to know that you- any of you- have a home here.”

I blink, swallowing heavily. “T- thank you,” I manage after a beat, forcing down the sudden lump in my throat.

Oh _fuck_ no Jean, you are _not_ tearing up at the first hint of motherly affection you’ve gotten in years.

I clear my throat awkwardly, avoiding her eyes, and thankfully, Marco uses this moment to cough back to life.

He grimaces when he jostles his leg, letting out a pitiful “ _ow”._

Elisa immediately jumps to his side, smiling softly. It looks warm and optimistic to an extent, but I can sense more than see the little hairline cracks running through it, threatening to shatter, held together purely by resolve. “How are you feeling, _Dulzura_?”

“Been better,” he mutters. His eyes drift to the side and he seems to notice me for the first time. “Oh. Hey.” He tries to smile, he really does, and it's a valiant effort. Just not a successful one.

“Hey,” I say softy, and once again I find myself crouching at the edge of his bed.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows dryly. “Still bad, huh.” It’s not a question but Elisa nods anyway.

She lays a hand on his arm through the layers of blankets and seems to steel herself for what she's about to say. “Marco…” uh oh, it’s never good when someone starts with your name. “If we don’t see improvements soon, we might have to…” she trails off nods her head to the side.

Marco doesn't even flinch. “Yeah. Okay. I figured. I’ve been through worse. Just make it stop hurting, _please.”_

I watch him sadly, _something_ gnawing deep in my stomach. Who are we to deny him that relief?

Man, and I think _I_ feel like shit.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

It’s the third day at Marco’s house and I’m slowly going mad with worry.

The antibiotics Elisa snatched are making no noticeable difference as far as I can tell and anytime I ask her about it her lips go tight and she says something along the lines of ‘ _it’s too early to tell’._ Yeah, I’m not buying it. 

She assures me that it’s alright to wait around for a few days to see if it works or not. In my mind, every second we sit here and let the wound _fester_ is another moment for it to get worse, but apparently we can spare a day or two- I don’t know, I have no idea how any of this works. As one last ray of hope I asked if Armin could just heal it and be done with it, but Elisa confirmed his theory and said there's a good chance it will only make it worse to close the wound. Guess I’ll leave it to the surgeon.

Mina’s alright, at least- she keeps me on my toes. I _think_ she likes me too, but it's a little hard to tell.

And, in the kitchen, I’m quickly learning that I’m no chef, but I still try to help out from time to time, a sorry way to try to carry my own weight. Besides, I think I can handle cutting carrots with Armin for a few minutes, talking about things that wouldn't even be _interesting_ on a normal day, yet is a much-needed break, like dipping our toes into a little pool of suburbia.

“Ouch,” Armin hisses through his teeth, setting down the knife holding up his index finger, a small red droplet dripping down it.

I wince sympathetically. “Need a band-aid?”

“No, it’s alright.” He presses the fingers of his other hand around it, and when he lifts them there's nothing but a smear of blood, no cut in sight.

“I thought you couldn't heal yourself,” I say, quirking a brow but going back to cutting the carrots.

“I can if it’s small,” he says, washing his hands and the knife in the sink. “It’s all about the exchange of energy. I can heal paper cuts and stuff on myself because they’re small and the energy it takes to heal it doesn't disrupt the actual healing process because it’s so minuscule.”

“But you can’t do bigger wounds.”

“Right. If I were to say, get mortally injured, I wouldn't be able to heal myself because the amount of energy I would need to use to fix it would kill me anyway. Plus, I have less energy to spend the weaker I am.”

I glare at the carrots, chopping one in half a little too hard and leaving a new mark on the cutting board. “Well that kinda sucks.”

He shrugs, a small smile quirking at the corners of his lips. “I’m not planning on getting mortally injured anytime soon, so I think it’ll be fine.”

“Well, I’ll drink to that,” I snort, picking up the cutting board and pushing the newly-chopped carrots and sliding them into the ridiculously big pot of broiling soup.

Eren takes that moment to strut into the kitchen, hair up in one of his ridiculous man-buns, and wrap his arms around Armin’s shoulders from behind, burying his nose in his hair. Armin cranes his neck to grin back at him

“Disgusting,” I mutter as Armin laughs.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

“He… has too?” Sasha asks, voice going squeaky.

Elisa nods lightly, but firmly.

I shuffle my feet, pursing my lips.

Ultimately, it was decided that Marco needs to lose the leg, and he gave his consent. There was something about not having the equipment to try real antibiotic treatment and not wanting to wait any longer for it to travel up the leg, I don’t know, I kind of tuned out after the whole ‘he has to get his leg chopped off’ thing. To say that solemned things would be an understatement.

Elisa, once again coming home from the hospital with pockets full of clamps, needles, a wire saw, bandages, and somehow a whole portable anesthesia machine. I decided not to ask how the hell she snuck that out under her coat, and I have to assume she somehow wasn't suspicious because SURVEY isn't on our asses yet- quite impressive.

When I asked if she’d, you know, _carried out_ an amputation before she a grimace twisted her face and she said: “I've _seen_ someone perform the surgery before”, which, for the sake of my sanity, I take to mean that she knows exactly what she’s doing.

 _And,_ also for the sake of my sanity, I decide to ignore the surgery currently going on in the bedroom. The others seem to have the same idea because they’re lingering about, having quiet, stilted conversations about nothing or sitting and twiddling their thumbs. Except for Armin of course, who's standing by Elisa’s side in case she needs emergency healing help.

The kitchen is dark and silent, and I lean my elbows on the grey countertop, facing the wide window. Gathering my face in my hands, I take a deep, rattling breath and close my eyes and just let myself _feel._ I don’t want to think too hard right now.

The permanent stomach ache that settled in my gut the second Levi handed me that file and has yet to leave causes bile to rise in the back of my throat but I force it down, staring viciously at the city outside, refusing to think about Marco.

The house is on a hill on top of a hill, so there’s a perfect view of the city from the kitchen window, the stark white streetlights that burned my eyes only a few months ago nothing more than slightly uncomfortable now. The red tail lights of cars on a distant freeway move sluggishly through the dark, cutting through the building silhouettes. I know the ocean is out there somewhere- right under the horizon line. It’s too dark to see it right now, but it’s out there. If I concentrate I can make out the faintest traces of salt in the air. 

I wonder how many times Marco stood in this same spot, taking in the view. I wonder how many times he thought of it in the facility, if he missed it. 

I need some air.

Slipping out the sliding door and onto the deck, all I can do is hope that SURVEY doesn't have eyes on the backyard because I can’t spend one more moment inside that stuffy, suffocating house. 

The night air is cold and clear and I gulp it down gratefully. The patio is cool beneath my bare feet and black hills roll in the distance behind swimming white and orange lights, but I collapse on the stairs leading down to the yard before I can see any specifics. The yard is dark except for a buzzing porch light behind me that a moth is desperately trying to get scalded by, and it would if it weren't for the metal grate incasing the bulb.

I read something about that once, in one of Armin’s books. Transverse Orientation, they called it; where the moth thought the light was the moon, what they navigate by, so they end up endlessly flying in circles around the lightbulb until either daylight comes or they burn to death, whichever comes first. A sad ending to their already short life.

I hope that's not what we’re doing. Chasing something that we think is the moon but is only a shitty battery-powered lantern.

I sit there long enough for my skin to break out in goosebumps and for the moon to rise just a little further. The moth hasn't taken the hint though, and is still fluttering around the porch light. I stare at nothing, letting my mind go blank- I’m pretty good at that.

I’m so spaced out that when the sliding door rattles open behind me I jump, heart trying to climb out of my throat.

It’s Mina, I realize, looking over my shoulder. Mina, snuggled in a sweatshirt that's a bit too big for her with a black and white dog printed on the front, and wavy black hair spilling over her shoulders, unkempt and partially covering her face. She hitches the hoodie tighter around herself, freckles disappearing into wrinkles when she scrunches her nose. The dog disappears in the folds until it only looks like a nose and a tail. “It’s cold.”

I nod a little. “Yeah, it is.” She stands there looking at me for another long moment before I realize she's probably waiting for a cue telling her she can sit. “Oh, uh-” I scooch over on the stair despite there being plenty of room, patting the space beside me.

She ducks her head and comes to sit criss-cross-applesauce a couple of feet beside me, tucking her knees to her chest and burying her nose in them until only her eyes are peeking out.

“What- uh, what are you doing out here?” I venture, more than a little awkwardly- this _is_ her house after all, I’m just a surprise... guest. What the hell are you even supposed to talk about with kids? Barbies? Politics? The state of the world? Not that I know much about the state of the world. Or politics... or Barbies.

“Marco said to be nice to you,” she says bluntly. “So that's what I’m doing.”

I blink. Well, she's upfront about it at least.

“... Okay. Thanks.”

She nods, glaring at her toes.

I wring my fingers between my knees. “So, uh, you doing alright?” I mean, her brother is currently undergoing a hap-hazard surgery in his bedroom because if we take him to the hospital not only will they see his wings but SURVEY will snatch us right back up and Mina will most likely never see him again, _but_ it's a proper courtesy to ask, right?

She turns her head to face me, eyes narrowing. “Yeah,” she says as if offended by the thought that she might not be.

I eye her. “It’s… okay not to be, y’know. I know I’m pretty fu- uh, pretty worried.”

She bites her lip, squeezing her hands between her thighs. “Why did those guys take Marco?”

“Umm,” I start, trying to figure out how to explain it. Should I dumb it down? Would she be mad if I did? “Well, you know how Marco grew wings, right?” She nods, eyes wide. Right, of course she does. “Well, the people that took him take people with powers or mutations or whatever like that. They call us Deviants. They… studied us and tried to train us into soldiers.”

She purses her lips. “That's dumb.”

I snort. “Yeah, it is.”

Mina slowly looks up at me, freely meeting my eyes. “Did they take you too?” she asks slowly.

I blow air out of my nose. “Yeah, a long time ago.”

“Why don't you go back to your family then?”

I shrug, squashing down any bit of emotion that rises in my gut. “I dunno where they are.” _They probably don't want to see me anyway,_ I add silently.

She furrows her black eyebrows, staring at the ground, troubled. “Oh. So are you guys going to live here now?”

Oh. “Um, maybe for a little while? Is that… okay with you?” As long as we’re allowed, I suppose, don't exactly have anywhere else to go. 

“Mamá said you guys are good people, and you brought Marco back, so… yeah.” 

I nod lightly, and in the silence, a strange look comes over her face and she squirms on the stair, looking suddenly timid. “Can you show me your… _thing?”_

I raise my eyebrows. “Thing?”

She gesticulates vaguely, waving her fingers. “Your superpower or whatever.”

I huff something akin to a laugh. And here I thought she was steeling herself to say something serious. Why not. “Sure kid,” I say, and she beams so hard her canines show.

There's not much in the way to lift around here, some dirt, an old, sun-bleached toy dump truck, and a pebble- or could be called a rock- few feet away which I decidedly focus on, gently reaching out with my mind and cradling it in my figurative hands and raising it in the air, slowly bringing it towards me. The familiar low relief of released tension buzzes under my skin.

Mina doesn't bother to even _try_ to hide her amazement. “Woah,” she breathes, slowly pulling the rock from the air when it gets close enough. She palms the rock as if she can absorb my Deviance through it. “That's so _cool,_ I wanna be able to do that- can you teach me?”

I laugh lightly, my smile a little bitter despite myself. “I’m afraid it doesn't work that way kid. Besides, you don't wanna be a Deviant, trust me.”

She’s not buying it. “I dunno, even one like that guy’s would be cool, the one with a girl's name- he can run really fast, right? I’d do so good in PE…” she trails off, turning the rock around in her hands. “Think fast!”

Before I can register what she said, she chucks the rock at my face.

“Hey!” I yelp, reflexively sending the jagged piece of gravel flying high in the air, _away_ from my face. I fumble to catch it in my hands on its way back down. “What was that for?!”

“Just wanted to see if you could catch it,” she shrugs, having the gall to look disappointed that I did.

“Well, you could’ve killed me.”

“Don’t be a Drama Queen,” she scolds. “Now toss the rock to me, _without_ your hands.”

I huff good-naturedly, rolling my eyes, but comply. She's surprisingly commanding. If this is what she needs to take her mind off of things then I’m happy to help, even if she breaks my nose in the process. I can’t imagine how weird, how _scary_ this is for her; her brother ‘committing suicide’ would be traumatizing enough, but suddenly this random guy is at your door saying he has your brother but he’s hurt and delirious and suddenly your house has ten new occupants when it wasn't really all that big to begin with, _then_ it turns out your brother is so hurt that he has to get his leg amputated by his own _mom-_ it hurts just thinking about it.

And poor Elisa, too. Not being able to completely reunite with your son because he’s very slowly dying of a stupid dog bite but the hospital is just out of reach so you have to amputate his leg (which can’t be a pretty sight) alone with only a little seventeen-year-old boy with healing powers you’ve known for half a week as help.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I rub at my shoulders, eyes following the rock I lightly throw (telekinetically) to her for her to toss back- or throw into the air if she’s feeling fancy. I can’t shake the feeling of Marco from all those nights ago, back in Flagstaff. I’m pretty sure the only time I’ve ever slept deeper was that time Eren knocked me out for ten straight minutes on ‘accident’. Ridiculously warm in my arms despite his shivering, wings like a heavy blanket, his scent of what I imagine rain to smell like, soft and comforting and surprisingly delicate- wait.

Oh. 

Oh _Fuck._

_Oh nonononono._

_..._

_I think I like him._

My hold on the rock falters and it falls to the ground with a hollow clatter.

Huh.

No. Just no. No! No? No. 

“Magic dude? Jean?”

Oh no, I can't ruin this. I can't ruin our friendship, I know, like, twelve people- I can’t afford to lose one of them. Especially not Marco.

 _But Jean,_ my conscience says, _he’s too nice to push you away._ Yeah, and that makes it _worse._

There's the sudden slide of the door behind me. Not right now, _please._ I’m kind of in the middle of something here.

" _Cielo?”_

I crane my head to look back at a tired-looking Elisa who is peeking her head through the doorway. “Y- Yeah?” I ask, voice pitching embarrassingly high. I have the feeling I look a bit like a deer in the headlights.

She wipes her hands on her thighs. “We finished, he’ll be waking up soon. All went well. Armin is healing the worst of it.” She pronounces Armin as _Ar-mean,_ but I doubt he would mind.

I jerk to my feet, current predicament momentarily wiped from my mind. I’m sure I’m going to visit that train of thought again, anyway, however much I’d rather not. “Can I see him?”

“Yes, of course, go ahead.” She ducks back inside, leaving the door open for me.

“Um, bye Mina,” I shoot over my shoulder as I dart into the living room and onto the wood flooring, fast-walking to the bedroom, trying not to look too eager. I would feel bad about just leaving Mina out there if I didn't have bigger things on my mind.

The metallic tang of blood permutes the air of the hallway, but it's not overwhelming, and it is mostly overshadowed by the smell of antiseptic and cleaning chemicals. I slow when I reach the cracked-open door, gathering a breath before pushing inside.

The first thing I notice is a white trash bag at the foot of the bed, and the all-to-familiar smell tells me it's full of bloodied bandages and towels among other things.

Then, of course, I see Marco, and the space under the blanket where his left leg _should_ be, but is instead cut short. I avert my eyes to Sasha, looming worriedly over him, and Armin crouched at the end of the bed, cheeks flushed and little beads of sweat trickling down the back of his neck.

“Skin is already almost closed up,” Armin says a little breathily, answering my question before I can ask it. “A lot of work but his healing already seems to be kicking in, and at this rate he’ll probably be fully healed within a day or two.” He wipes the back of his hand against his forehead. “It’s amazing, really.”

“Thanks Armin,” I say, coming to stand beside Sasha, letting him collect his breath. A blanket is tucked up to Marco’s armpits, and he still looks dead to the world, thankfully, only a tiny pinch of tension between his eyebrows interrupting his otherwise peaceful expression.

Sasha sighs heavily, smoothing her hair back that's for once not in her usual ponytail. “SURVEY sucks, man.”

I snort lightly. “You got that right.” I fall back on the rolling desk chair, and Sasha comes to sit on a chair beside me that she must have dragged in from the dining room.

Soon Elisa comes bustling back in, taking Marco’s wrist in hand and checking his heart rate among other things. Mina pads in after a while and stands silently at the end of his bed, staring at him. I almost try to talk to her but ultimately decide against it. She’ll need time to process this at some point, so why not get it over with now?

It's not long after she leaves that he groggily wakes up.

I jolt forward when he mutters something incomprehensible, obviously hopped up on drugs.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” I say, trying not to hover but failing. Sasha perks up and, after shooting a look in Marco’s direction, tip-toes out of the room, presumably to retrieve Elisa.

He lifts a hand up from under the blanket, blinking blearily at it, before hitching himself up on his elbows and looking down at his leg- or lack of one, eyes blurry. “Woah.”

“Hey… how are you?” I venture, trying to divert his attention, internally grimacing about the lame excuse of a greeting but not knowing what else to say. I don't know if he’s even lucid enough to answer.

His eyes are droopy but relatively alert. “Like I’m five pounds lighter than an hour ago."

I glare at him. “That's not funny.”

“It is a little.”

I shoot him a deadpan look that quickly breaks into a tiny smile. “Okay, it's a _little_ funny but that doesn't mean you should say it.”

He smiles loopily and moves what’s left of his left leg, mouth parted in wonder. He makes as if to sit up further but I grab his shoulders and gently push him back down. “I’m sorry, but you gotta-”

“Mmm,” he interrupts, immediately pulled from his leg, and lays his head back down on the pillow, his still half-raised hand finding mine and grabbing on. “M’tired.”

A little heat flares in my cheeks. “Go ahead and rest then,” I say, squeezing his hand assuringly, backing off when Elisa burts in, and I once again sit in my designated chair, staying planted there in case he wakes up again.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I _had_ decided to stay awake, but I ultimately fail my little vigil. Horribly. I conked out in less than half an hour after Elisa leaves with promises of more painkillers for him tomorrow.

I don't know why _I’m_ the one feeling wiped out when all I’ve done in the past few days is sit on my ass, but I am, and my brain has decided that now is the time it's going to shut off, and shut off it does.

God, I really gotta stop falling asleep in chairs before I give myself permanent spine damage.

I roll my shoulders, working a crink out of them, sweeping the dimly lit room for anything that could have woken me but coming back empty. Marco’s still sound asleep with a healthy amount of drugs running through his system. The lamp in the corner of the room gives off a glow soft enough to see by but not much else, and the flickering digital clock reads half-past midnight in bright red numbers.

My eyes keep drifting back to Marco against my will so eventually I give up and let them. I lean my elbows on my knees, blowing a strand of hair out of my face. This is probably pretty creepy, staring at people in their sleep is a solid 92 out of 100 on the weird scale, but I can't bring myself to look away. Now that I’m looking at him, I realize that I really _do_ like him. Like, _like_ like him.

I remember when I first saw him when he was unconscious in the van while we were driven to SURVEY, how I noted all his freckles and strong features. Then when I first talked to him, blindfold on because I was having one of _those_ days and taking a not-very-relaxing walk down the halls when the Commander pretty much shoved him into my arms. I remember his voice sounding kind and thinking: ‘ _He’s not gonna last a day.’_ Boy, was I wrong. I thought he was painfully naive at first with how he was all smiles and nice words, and maybe he was, but when he got that naivety broken he was not different. Sure, he had his freakouts, who hasn't, but at the end of the day, he stayed the same at his core. That's more than can be said about most of us. I don’t even remember who _I_ was before SURVEY.

I glare at him to see if that will change my feelings, but unsurprisingly, it doesn't. I huff to myself. It's a bit pathetic really, glaring at a guy who just got the bottom half of his leg amputated because I found out I have a little schoolgirl crush.

I pick at my already blunt fingernails, curling my knees to my chest and slowly spinning back and forth in the chair. It's alright, I’m an adult, and I’ll treat this like an adult: Never say anything and wait for it to go away. Sounds good to me. 

Tearing my nail a little too far, I stop my picking and spinning. Suddenly I’m not tired anymore.

Sighing, I loll my head to the side, surveying the desk to my left, finding a lone felt-tipped pen lying in the middle of the desk next to a crumpled pair of earbuds. I pick up the pen, uncapping it and studying it. There's no paper, but that's okay.

I draw a little face on my palm. As good a paper as any.

The ink turns blue when it meets my skin and it bleeds into the little crevasses, making the lines fuzzy, but I continue anyway. Zigzags spiraling around my finger like a pair of rings, a cube on one of my knuckles, the hot air balloon I saw on the drive here hanging above some clouds, a detailed sketch of the moon, a little snake curled around my wrist, a replica of one of Marco’s feathers on my arm that I’m quite proud of, a tiger on the back of my hand- the same one I learned to draw back when Ymir would begrudgingly humor me by shifting into all different sorts of animals for me to draw (as long as I gave her my best one). 

I don’t know how long I sit there, scratching little sketches onto my arm, but at some point I’m pulled from my trance when there's a sudden intake of breath and Marco grumbles something illegible under his breath.

I look up as Marco blinks awake, immediately cringing when awareness returns to him. I get that, I really do.

His attention drifts to me and he doesn't seem all that surprised to see me.

“Do you need anything, I can-” he shakes his head, eyes half-lidded, so I cut myself short

“That's nice,” he says, weakly gesturing at my arm.

“Oh… yeah. No paper around here, so…”

He hums and looks everywhere except for himself. “What's that?”

My eyes flit up to his. “What’s what?”

“That,” he says, nodding at the bare beginnings of a dragon on the inside of my arm.

I shrug. “Just something from one of Armin’s books I read a while ago.”

“Cool,” he says slowly.

“Yep,” I say, popping the ‘p’, nodding at the wall behind him.

He snorts after a beat. “This is great. Love this.”

I flush. “W-Well I’m a little low on conversation topics right now, besides, you should be sleeping.”

“S’alright,” Marco says, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. “I literally can't feel anything right now- it doesn't hurt.”

Struck with an idea, I roll closer with a squeak of the chair’s wheels until my knees are pressed to the bedside. “Here, give me your arm.”

He wearily raises an eyebrow but too tired to ask, he complies. Good.

Taking his arm I touch the pen to it and make a short black line. His eyes follow every stroke of the ink, and it’s _just_ bright enough to see what I’m drawing. I know we aren't the only ones awake in the house; Sasha is whispering something a room away, Armin is humming to himself matched with the Eren’s boarish snoring, and in her room down the hall, Mina is rummaging through something when she should certainly be in bed, but I tune them out, pretending there's nothing outside of this room. No world, no SURVEY, no nothing, just us and our little alcove of peace.

It’s a nice dream, at least.

Marco is fighting against the pull of the drugs, that much is obvious, but it doesn't take long for him to give into it. I keep drawing, though. Making little waves of water and individual leaves of trees, and maybe a seashell in the sand here and there. His fingers twitch against mine a few times but he doesn't pull his arm back.

I doodle things I can remember from both this world and SURVEY’s world until my own eyelids start to feel like bricks and half of his forearm is marked with black.

I put the cap back onto the pen.

_I’m so fucked._

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

It’s a long two months.

My newfound realization doesn't help either.

We live in a constant state of waiting- waiting to be found out, for SURVEY bust down the doors and destroy the little bubble of peace we managed to scrape together, to make things worse than they already are. 

We _almost_ sent someone back to Flagstaff to tell Ymir and Historia that we’re alright, but ultimately decided it's too risky. If any of us went, even ignoring the fact that none of us have a license (well, except for Marco, but he certainly isn't leaving anytime soon), we don't know if SURVEY has eyes here or not, and if they catch a glimpse of us leaving then we’re busted, so we just sit back and hope that they’re fine and that they know we’re fine. 

I’m antsy to get moving- we can’t stay here forever, and I’m quite sorry towards Elisa for suddenly giving her ten more mouths to feed, even if most of us- Sasha excluded- don’t eat much. But, at the same time, I refuse to go anywhere without Marco, and it would be horrible of me to try to tear him away from his family, so I steel myself to stay put. It's not that bad anyway. Not bad at all.

Sasha has taken this time to expand her palette with all the outside world-y foods, and Elisa seems to enjoy cooking for her, never in a bad mood.

Armin finds ‘phones’ a fascinating subject, and can spend hours tapping away and scrolling through “Wikipedia” articles, whatever those are- Marco’s phone is pretty much his at this point. Eren is always draped over Armin or shooting people on Marco’s PS5. He doesn't look to be any good, but I can't talk. I tried it once and could only run around in circles until I died, which Eren found hilarious. Connie is literally bouncing off the walls, but what's new? 

Reiner is… Reiner. He has his good days, has his bad days, and has only once had an episode where he tried to leave to turn himself back into SURVEY, but Annie quickly caught him and he hasn't tried again, so that's one crisis averted for now. I had hoped that he would have recovered by now from going cold turkey on his meds and finally stabilize, but I should have known that wasn't going to work. 

He’s had his fits of anger, week-long depressive episodes, and days where he acts like himself so obviously that it almost looks like a facade, but, in the end, he’s always been okay. I’m choosing to assume that it’ll always end that way for the sake of my own sanity. I can't take much more stress.

Elisa has also taken to Bertholdt, and she’s tried many times to reel him out of his shell and get him to play some card or board game with her, and she’s sometimes successful. It probably helps that, even after he told her his Deviance, she isn't scared of casually touching him on the arm and doesn't flinch away when they bump shoulders in the hallway, even knowing he could send her crumpling to dust with only a thought- something even I can’t quite say is true for me.

And Marco. A prosthetist that Elisa assured us we could trust, a kind greying woman, arrived a few weeks after the surgery and fitted him for a prosthetic. We were wary at first, but apparently she and Elisa are good friends and have been for years, and she has visited many times before, so it shouldn't be suspicious for her to be there. She had Marco trial-run a few versions, but he eventually settled on one that worked for him and she left to tailor it. She stopped by a few more times every-other-week, tweaking it every time before finally perfecting it and handing it off- not without Elisa and Marco’s abundant thanks.

We knew without asking that Marco would need a good prosthetic with our kind of… lifestyle. He can’t afford to be immobile.

Marco has taken to the prosthetic quite well, actually. Now, with his specially made one, he’s walking fairly confidently without crutches only two weeks after having it around the clock. Takes him a while to put it on, sure, but it’s working better than we could have hoped.

I hate the way that every time he walks into the room my eyes immediately narrow in on the prosthetic. I can tell he hates the way everyone looks at him with pity reflected in their eyes, but, of course, it's Marco, so he doesn't say anything. It's hard, but not as hard as it is for him, so I suck it up and deal with it.

The seven-month anniversary of meeting Marco came and went, bringing any unfamiliarity with it. I find myself at his side pretty much all day every day, hovering while he learns to walk again, or sprawled on his bed with him, a random episode of _Game of Thrones_ playing on his laptop (a series he never got to finish, apparently. Though, to be honest, I don’t really see the appeal of watching a dude fuck his sister- but all the beheadings are cool, I’ll give it that), and random snack foods laying about now that he’s got his appetite back. 

At times like those I can _almost_ forget about everything else and just let me live my teenage years that I missed out on, but there's always the thought niggling at the back of my mind telling me that the second I let my guard down everything will be ruined.

There's been a couple scares where Elisa alerted us suspicious black vans parked down or across our street for hours at a time, and I don't know if they were SURVEY or not, but if they were, they must not have found any traces of us because no tac-vested soldiers barge in to haul us away, and apparently the law applies to them enough that they can’t search the place without a warrant. Or maybe they have no idea where we are and don’t want to alert Elisa that there was something fishy about her son’s ‘suicide’. 

Either way, I don't care as long as we’re off the radar.

Elisa is nice enough to either truly not care about all of the new additions to her household or pretend not to. She still treats me like… family, really. Hugs me as much as Marco, ruffles my hair, makes me lunch when she notices that I haven't eaten in a while, tells the others to bring it down a notch whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed (which is happening less and less these days). It's nice. Really nice.

I realized that Marco is pretty much a male version of Elisa, if a hint more reclusive and a lot more sarcastic after SURVEY and months of having to keep up with Ymir and I. Got the same hair, same skin, same freckles, they both gush over whatever Mina has cooked up in her little sketchbook, they help out when needed (and when it’s not), but it hurts me to see Marco sometimes flinch away when the neighbor turns on his drill or a particularly loud airplane flies over the house, and I can tell Elisa notices too by the way her eyes wrinkle, her lips go tight, and her hands still, but in the end, she never says anything, just brushes her hand comfortingly across his shoulder as she passes.

Mina is absolutely nothing like either of my siblings. Not like Cami and her sweet, girly demeanor, or Robin, timid and emotional- no, she’s all sharp words and eyes and cutting edge remarks that even _Ymir_ would have trouble coming up with a retort to. It’s tragic, really, that Ymir isn’t here with us, I’d _love_ to see the showdown between those two. Sometimes she hands me a sheet of paper and a pencil and tells me- no, _demands_ that I sit and draw with her, though she always phrases it differently to make it seem like she doesn't _really_ care, but it's an easy act to see through. 

I’m more than happy to, though, and in the rare moment I’m not hanging out with Marco she’s probably dragging me around to show me some cool animal in a picture book she’d think I’d like or some knick-knack on her shelf. I’m not sure if it's just a need for validation or if after months of thinking her big brother was dead scooped out a hole in her heart that she’s desperately trying to fill, but I’m happy to humor her. It’s not really humoring, anyway, I genuinely enjoy her company.

I would honestly be happy to stay here forever, even the lingering fear of SURVEY lurking in the back of my mind can’t smother the simple joy this household inspires.

So, it makes sense that it could never last. 

Especially not when Reiner’s entire personality is swinging back and forth like a Newton's Cradle.

Reiner growls, a threatening rumble that makes me take an involuntary step back. “Get the fuck out of my way!”

“Why?” I hiss, blocking the way out of the kitchen. “Tell me, where exactly are you going to go?”

He curls his nose, eyes shifting to the side but not backing down. He fiddles with something in his pocket with his right hand, and I see a tiny flash of paper before he shoves it down again. I don’t have the time or state of mind to wonder what the hell he’s trying, and failing, to hide from me, too concerned with the more immediate threat of his potential to run out on the street, hollering for SURVEY like a lost child in a grocery store. Besides, it looks to be just a fucking scrap of paper.

“Reiner,” I say firmly, forcing him to meet my eyes, sensing that if I play my words right I can gain the upper hand. His whole heart isn’t in this. Even when I strain to straighten my spine he’s still looking down on me, but I hope I look serious enough to make up for my lack of height. “You do _not_ want to go back there, trust me. I don't know how much they fucked you up to make you think you do, but you _don’t,_ okay?”

Reiner stops trying to push me out of the way, so that's a start. Besides, if he _really_ wanted me out of his way he would have thrown me so hard that I’d go through the wall and end up in the shrubs outside, and I’m still standing.

“I _get_ that this is weird. SURVEY is all you know, I _get_ it. They _brainwashed you_ , okay? They brainwashed all of us! But you gotta learn to accept _this_ world, the real world, you can't keep swinging like this! We never know if we can trust you! One moment you’re as ‘fuck SURVEY’ as the rest of us, and the next you're trying to run back to them with your tail between your legs! Just _please, promise_ me you won't get us caught,” I plead, not quite keeping the desperation out of my voice. “That's not fair to us, so pull yourself together man.”

The second the words are out of my mouth I know I shouldn't have blown up on him, but I’m not going to take them back. This can't keep happening. I know we’ll never leave him behind but right now he's being a danger to all of us. I let my eyes flick to both of the empty doorways. Where’s Annie when you need her?

Reiner grumbles something under his breath, but he stops puffing out his chest like a compensating bird and leans against the counter, subdued. Good. Though his hand once again travels down to hover over his pocket, the same one as before. I decide to let it slide.

“What?” I prompt, wanting to hear him say it.

“Yeah. Fine, okay. M’sorry...” Like a switch, his expression goes from angry to pained and he wrenches his hand away. “God, I don’t even know what I was _thinking.”_

I sigh, taking a step back to give him space. This isn't just a mess, it's a full-on dumpster fire. “Look, I love you man, but you gotta get whatever _this_ is under control,” I say, circling my hands vaguely for ‘ _this’._

“It’s not that simple,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck, keeping his eyes pinned to the floor, curling his shoulders into himself, having none of the looming presence he had a few seconds ago.

“Yeah, I know it's not. It's not your fault, I know. Sorry. Just…” I huff out a breath, thoughts so jumbled they refuse to come out as coherent words.

“No, no it's fine. Someone needs to snap some sense into me, right?” He laughs weakly.

“Yeah…” 

I liked him better before, however horrible that is. In control. When he could pop some pills and call it a day. With him like _this_ I’m not sure how to help him, if I even _can_ help him. So I stand back, letting Reiner go through the motions of putting himself back together as if reading a step-by-step pamphlet. I wonder how many times he's done this exact thing. He’s either a very good actor or he’s fooling himself, I can’t tell, and I don't know if I’ll ever know. 

I’m only now realizing that I _thought_ I knew Reiner before- I mean, I've seen him every day for, what? Seven years? Slept in the same room with him every night, trained with him during the day, but that whole time I’d just been seeing a mask. At least, I hope it was a mask- the alternative is that he really is just that broken, and somehow, that's worse. Way worse. I’d rather it be a conscious decision instead of it being a result of SURVEY breaking him down and bit and bridling him and pulling on the reins.

“I’m gonna see what Connie’s doing,” Reiner says abruptly, pushing past me, effectively snapping me out of my thoughts. Yeah, I deserved that.

I sigh, leaning against the counter and staring after him. This can’t last.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I both love and hate this update. I hope you guys aren't disappointed ahhhh. I’m trying not to go too fast, but I figured you guys can only handle so many chapters of them just sitting around before getting bored. I kinda glazed over the whole amputation process n stuff because I figured the intricacies don't really matter (even though I spent an hour researching exactly how to amputate a leg) and I didn't want the whole chapter to be about that.
> 
> Also, note that Jean doesn't know how to deal with Reiner’s mood swings and outbursts, so definitely don’t take him as an example. Reiner has kind of a… unspecified mental illness. Not quite like what he has in Canon but close. SURVEY called it Bipolar Disorder, but that's not quite right (they couldn't care less as long as they can use him). Just wanted to clarify. It is in no way my intention to vilify people with Bipolar Disorder or other mental illnesses, btw, just thought I’d say so.
> 
> Can I just say how much I appreciate you commenters? Last chapter’s feedback was great, and considering I’m still under quarantine and I don’t have much else to do (fucking America), your comments are pretty much the highlight of my week. Sometimes I get a bit dissuaded at the… lack of hits, so to say, (but this ship has sunk to the bottom of the sea at this point, so I get it) but the engagement really keeps me going, especially when I’m spending hours every day writing this. So, thank you.
> 
> Whew, long author's note, that could've been a chapter in and of itself. Next time we’ll get more Marco POV and we’ll move onto the next phase of the story (the best phase).
> 
> And yes, this Mina is entirely based off of Droplets Mina, sue me.


	13. Ruiner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of suicide.

**9:22 am, November 11th, 2022**

**Marco Bodt**

At first, it felt like when you sleep on your arm wrong and when you wake up you can’t move or feel it, but the sensation never goes away. It took the better part of a month to even get used to the lack of limb there, to no longer recognize the space a few inches under my knee as part of my body.

It was jarring, yes, very jarring, but it could've been worse. At least I had time to prepare, and mine and Armin’s healing combined means it was completely healed up days after the surgery, and no longer tender not long after. And it doesn’t hurt anymore, which is a definite plus- or maybe I’m just desensitized after all of Hangi’s experiments, the worst of those sitting firmly at the top of the list of ‘worst things to ever happen to me’ (and that includes the disaster that was my 6th-grade biology presentation, so it’s a very high bar).

The prosthetic is uncomfortable and obtrusive, a sudden new weight right when I was getting used to the lack of a _leg_ . I deal with it though, I can’t just _not_ be able to walk around, I can’t rely on crutches forever, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

I roll the sleeve over my thigh and fit it snugly. It’s a grey and black thing, a metal pipe for the calf that leads down to a “foot” that I can fit into a shoe. Lurching out of bed, I’m proud that I don’t wobble this time. I uselessly try to smooth my hair down in front of the mirror, but give up when it decides not to cooperate. Mamá gave all of us that needed it haircuts over a month ago, but my hair is already falling over my ears again, but that's alright, it doesn't look half-bad this way.

I dance through the room to avoid stepping on Jean’s empty and hideously unmade sleeping bag-bed thing spread on the floor next to my bed and emerge into the living room, greeted with sounds of screaming from the TV and Eren’s somehow both louder and scarier snoring.

Mina is showing a mildly disturbed Jean the 2018 _Halloween_ movie (the perfect early-morning film) while Annie lounges behind them on the couch with a bag of chips, watching the screen disinterestedly, not so much as blinking at the jumpscare that makes Jean yelp as Mina giggles. It had been Mina’s favorite movie for who knows what reason since her friend showed it to her during a sleepover (much to Mamá’s despair), and apparently she decided that she was going to traumatize Jean with it today.

When Jean notices me he shoots me a look that reads: _help me, please_ , but I just snort and shrug in a _what am I supposed to do? You’re on your own,_ sort of way. He shoots me a glare of betrayal, and I smile innocently at him. He grumbles under his breath but Mina quickly forces his attention back to the screen.

Throat dry like it usually is in the mornings, I walk to the kitchen in search of some sweet, sweet ice water, but instead find Connie poised in front of the open refrigerator, drinking orange juice straight from the carton. 

He pauses mid-gulp, eyes going wide, and sheepishly re-caps it and puts it back in the fridge, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry…”

“No you’re not,” I sigh, grabbing a glass, trying to keep an air of disapproval but my lips pull upwards against my will.

He smirks. “Yeah, I’m not.”

The house, while packed to the brim, doesn't feel nearly as busy as it could, especially with people like Annie and Bertholdt who are masters at sinking into the background- literally, in Annie’s case. It almost feels like one big sleepover… that lasts for months… and we can't go outside for threat of being attacked… and it involves a lot less chick flicks… but other than _that_ it's not hard to compare.

 _Although,_ it _does_ constantly look like a tornado picked up an entire REI and dropped it straight into the living room with the amount of sleeping bags, blankets, and air-mattresses scattered there. Eren is still knocked-out on one of them, a pillow pressed over his face. It’s impressive he can sleep through all the ruckus the horror movie is causing, but I suppose he’s slept in worse conditions.

The days are long but not boring, they are a long-needed relief. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of sitting around all day again. It’s nice not having to get up at the crack of dawn to run three warm-up miles _before_ actual training.

While some of us are perfectly happy to fall into this domestic sort of lifestyle, it’s definitely a struggle for others, especially Reiner, who is growing increasingly paranoid to the point where we have to pull him back from the curtain windows lest someone see him. I try not to treat him differently, but it’s hard when some days he seems made of glass.

I collapse onto the couch as far away from Annie as I can without looking like I’m avoiding her on purpose to watch the ending of _Halloween_ that I’ve seen more times than I would like _,_ joined soon by most of the others who are either finally waking up or crawling out of whatever hole they’ve been lurking in.

Mamá also emerges, allowed to wake up at an almost normal time since she didn't have work yesterday. She pads past us, shooting us all a warm “good morning” which all of us, even Annie, return. 

Sasha sluggishly shoves my flesh leg off the couch to make room for her and maneuvers one of my wings to use as a pillow, looking to all the world still fast asleep. Connie appears out of nowhere, precariously balancing several cups of coffee in his arms, and hands one to me and one to Sasha, who takes it with a grateful groan, immediately trying to down half the mug before she spits it back into the cup with a cry of “It’s hot!”

I hide my grin behind my coffee mug, and Jean looks over his shoulder at me when the movie ends and raises his eyebrows. 

I shrug. I don’t know either. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

“There have been no vans out there for a while, we might be in the clear,” Mamá announces as she walks in with an armful of grocery bags, carefully closing the door before it can open too wide and dropping the bags onto the table with a sigh.

Sasha rummages through the bags with a crinkle of plastic like a raccoon in a dumpster, nodding approvingly at Mamá when she finds what she’s looking for.

“We’ve been careful,” I affirm. “Maybe they figured that if they haven't seen us by now then we’re not here.”

“Let's hope so,” she sighs, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder and out of her face. “I’ll kick their asses if they try to take you again.”

“Mamá…” I try to quell. I’ve told her many times that in case we _do_ fumble and they find us, for her to step back so she doesn't get hurt. I don’t want her defending us and endangering herself, but she seems pretty sure they won’t hurt her.

“No, Marco,” she says firmly. “I’m not letting any of you go back there, okay? Not under my watch.”

Not under her watch indeed.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I yawn, stretching my arms behind me, back cracking with a satisfying _pop_ , when I hear mumbling from the guest room. I almost pass it off as someone being overly-cautious, but then I realize that this voice is deeper than anyone else here.

Furrowing my eyebrows, I slowly approach the closed door. On the other side of the wood, barely audible, Reiner murmurs something with an air of finality and sighs heavily. Last time I checked Annie and Bertholdt were in the living room, so who is he talking to?

I slowly push open the door with a click of the nob, wondering if he’s having an episode and talking to people who aren't there- that would be new.

“...Reiner?” I say cautiously, keeping my footsteps light- as light as I can when I can’t bend one of my “ankles”. “What are you doing?”

Reiner fumbles like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar- except I have the feeling that taking from said cookie jar will have greater consequences than a displeased parent.

He’s standing in front of the desk on the far side of the room, his body blocking whatever he’s leaning over. He shoots me an obviously fake, shaky smile, spinning around and keeping his hands planted over something on the desk.

“... You alright?” I ask, confused, stopping halfway across the room and tilting my head in concern. I keep my chest open to look as unthreatening as possible, and hope I don’t look like I’m trying too hard. He nods casually but doesn't quite meet my eyes, looking past my face.

“Whatcha got there?” I prompt slowly, alarm bells starting to ring in my head. I protectively keep my wings tight against my back.

“Nothing,” he says a little too fast. The problem is, sometimes he’s an amazing liar, and sometimes he’s worse than _me_ , so it’s hard to predict if he's telling the truth or not. He scratches at his neck where his collar used to be, a raised circular scar on the side of his throat where the needle stabbed him every day. “Hey,” he starts. “I’m hungry, I’m gonna go see if there's something in the fridge.”

He pushes past me, shoving something that looks suspiciously like my phone into his front pocket, but as he walks through the door a little sheet of white paper flutters from his fist and onto the floor. He doesn't seem to notice.

I approach it warily, as if it's gonna come to life and bite me. Gingerly picking it up, I flip it over to read the black lettering on the back. 

My stomach drops. Wait- what?

I squint at it harder, hoping against hope that I read it wrong. Nope. It stays the same.

Hissing out a curse, I clutch the thin piece of cardstock in my fist and rush after Reiner with long steps, not quite running, but almost. No need to be alarmed- yet. Maybe. 

It takes me a grand total of half a second to find him, and before he knows what's happening, I wrench my phone from his pocket. 

He yelps, a very un-Reiner-like sound, and tries to grab it back, but I hunch my shoulders, putting my back to him and flaring my wings to block him, opening the ‘calls’ app with shaking fingers, desperately hoping that I’m wrong. 

I’m not.

First in line under recents, dated only a couple minutes ago, is the same number that was on the card.

My breathing stills and he stops trying to grab the phone back. I slowly lower my hands and turn on him with an expression of dawning horror. He swallows heavily and stares at me with wide eyes.

“What is it?” I hear Annie ask tersely behind me. I didn't hear her approach. Of course I didn’t. Another pair of longer footsteps join her. Bertholdt.

“He called SURVEY on us,” I say hollowly, staring blankly at those ten dooming numbers lit up on my phone screen. Annie’s breath hitches. Reiner’s nostrils flare in uneasiness.

“I-”

“No.” I snap, breathing in a sharp breath through my nose and biting my lip, bringing a hand up to- God, I don't know, but my fingers tense and claw up before turning to a fist. “Just don’t.” 

Reiner falls silent.

Annie turns and has a silent conversation with Bertholdt that I can’t even begin to decipher, ending with a sharp nod from Annie, who then spins on her heels and strides out of the room, shoulders stiff and straight.

“We have to leave,” Bertholdt says, and even though he’s sweating copiously, his jaw has a firm set to it and the glare he sends at Reiner is nothing short of scathing. 

Reiner looks like he’s about to say something, maybe to defend himself, or maybe to snap something back, but then Jean bursts in, successfully interrupting him. Jean looks around, open-mouthed, gaze finally settling on Reiner.

“Tell me you didn’t,” he growls, stalking forward and sticking a finger to his chest. “You didn’t dare. You wouldn’t betray us like that.”

Reiner balks and looks down at the ground, shamefaced, pressing so hard against the kitchen cabinet that he looks like he’s trying to go through all the stages of osmosis.

Jean gathers a breath. “Fine,” he says, flat, mechanical. I don't think I’ve ever heard his voice sound so void of emotion- but I know better than to think it’s not a cover for whatever is churning inside of him.

“What did you tell them?” I ask stiffly, flexing my fingers at my sides.

A thousand emotions flash across Reiner’s face before it goes blank. It’s like he can’t decide what expression to settle on so he chooses none. He chews on the inside of his lip, mouth turned downwards.

Annie must have told the others by now because the kitchen is quickly getting much more crowded, but I can’t take my eyes off of Reiner.

“I told them where we are.”

Jean surges forward with a snarl, aiming his fist for Reiners’s face, and I don't even think about stopping him, but before he can land the hit Armin darts forward and tugs his arm back.

“That's not going to help a thing,” he says, but even he is avoiding looking at Reiner, an expression that I can't quite read twisting his features.

“Whatever, we have to leave,” I force out, taking another step towards Reiner, and I can’t help but flare my wings a little to make myself look bigger. “You’ve got a choice- I’m _giving_ you a choice. Come with us and we’ll give you another chance, or leave this house and let SURVEY find you _alone_ , because you are _not_ getting us or my family involved in this.”

He swallows heavily, eyes darting to Bertholdt and Annie, neither of whom say anything. Eren curses and steps out of the kitchen, probably to gather our things.

He takes too long so I turn and stalk out of the kitchen, letting the others deal with him. Mamá, just now coming to wonder why the house is so silent, peeks her head through the doorway. She immediately reads _whatever_ expression has taken up residence on my face and her eyes grow worried. “What is it? What happened?”

I throw my hands up half-heartedly, searching for words but not finding anyway. “... We need to leave,” I say after a beat, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

Mina takes this moment to materialize behind her without warning, and she takes in the suddenly empty living room. “What's happening, where'd everyone go?”

Lowering myself to her eye-level I bend down on one knee. “We have to go,” I say quietly.

I expect her to bombard me with ‘whys’ or ‘hows’, or maybe to get angry as that is her usual go-to emotion when she doesn't know what to do, but instead I’m met with a step back and an otherwise composed expression.

“For how long?” Is all she asks, a slight tremble to her voice.

My eyes dart up to my mother above me, still processing this information, then back at Mina. “I don’t know,” I admit. Instead of looking crestfallen, she physically reins herself in and tilts her chin up in an obvious effort to be strong.

“Okay.”

I smile painfully, and hug her. Her arms immediately wrap around my chest and her hands squeeze the back of my shirt like a lifeline, but she pushes away after a couple of seconds. “Well hurry up then,” she sniffs. “Don’t wanna get in trouble.”

“Will _they_ come here?” Mamá asks stiffly. 

“Most likely. It’s a… long story,” I add at her questioning expression. “Look, we’ll get out of here now, and if they show up here, just, I don’t know, stay out of their way.”

“No- you should stay here,” She insists. “We can- I don’t know, I’ll tell them to buzz off- I’ll call the police on them.”

“Mamá, we _have_ to go. The police won’t help and staying here means inevitable capture.”

She takes in a heavy breath and looks off to the side, eyes glistening. “I just wish there was a way to help…”

“There _is,”_ I insist. “Stay here, be safe, and don’t get involved. I’d feel so much better knowing you and Mina are alright.”

“Don’t worry about me, _Dulzura._ I’ll be alright. I promise.”

I nod gratefully. _”Thank you-”_

“-wait, I’m not done,” she interrupts. “ _You_ also have to promise to be safe. I’ll be so mad if you get hurt. Let your boy keep you out of trouble,” she says, nodding towards Jean, who has his back turned to us.

I flush. “H-he’s _not_ my boy- and if _he_ has to be the one to keep me out of trouble I probably deserve whatever trouble I sow.”

She smiles sadly at me. “You’ll be safe because I told you to be, because I’m your _mother_ , and because you know I’ll kick your winged _ass_ if you let the SURVEY Corps get what they want.”

Oh no, I’m going to start crying. I pull her in for another hug before she can see the tears wetting my eyes, hugging her a little tighter and a little longer than I ever have before, then reluctantly pull away. We don’t have time to spare.

I tug on a grey rain jacket-open trench coat thing that Mamá dug out of the garage to hide my wings. Not exactly comfortable- or particularly stylish- but it’ll do. We still have our SURVEY-issued backpacks shoved into the closet, each packed with clothes and a day's worth of food and water for each of us for this exact occasion. I clip the straps over my shoulders, fitting it in the space between my wings. 

Reiner is still here, shuffling awkwardly and avoiding the glares from his peers. Guess he didn't commit to it after all. I smooth my hair back, starting to feel a headache coming on. What are we supposed to _do_ with him?

The others collect their things as well, and out of the corner of my eyes, amidst the unnervingly silent chaos, I see Jean crouched in front of Mina, the latter muttering and cupping something in her hands that I can't see, but Jean is looking at with a vague expression of uncertainty and… something else.

My attention is torn away from them, however, when Sasha perks her head up, going still.

There's a knock on the door.

My heart skips a beat. Everyone freezes and goes silent the way startled animals tend to do when they first catch wind of their hunter. 

They knock again, a little louder, a little faster. There's the slam of a car door outside.

Mamá is the first to snap out of her stupor. “Go to your room Mina,” she says lowly, then turns to us. “Keep out of sight- go out the back if you think you can.” Mina shoves whatever they were looking at into Jean’s hands despite his protests, and bolts down the hall, shooting one last uncertain glance at me. Right at that moment, as we dart to the side and out of view from the front door, the doorknob clicks and turns, and the creak of the door swinging open sounds throughout the house as there's footsteps in the doorway. That was locked. I know it was- I check it every time I walk by. Did they pick it? Do they have a key?

Mamá’s eyes go wide and she stares at us for a moment too long, then steels herself, taking long, measured, slightly hurried strides to the doorway that is now hidden by the corner.

I turn to stare at Jean who looks equally frozen as I feel.

“Hello, ma’am,” an unfamiliar, smooth, and modulated voice not dissimilar from that of an elementary school teacher’s sounds from the doorway, not muffled at all by the wall separating us. “So sorry for letting myself in, but it’s urgent.”

“Is it now?” Mamá says, sounding impressively unimpressed. 

There's a beat of silence where I can imagine a stare-down taking place, before the man speaks again. “... May I come in?”

“No. Do you have a warrant?”

The man, apparently deciding to ignore the question, continues, “See, we got a call that you’re sheltering some of our soldiers here. Is that true?”

There's no doubt that the man can see the sleeping arrangements in the living room, but Mamá still answers, “what's it to you?”

I inch closer to the doorway between us and them. I’m sure there are more soldiers out front, though they are probably still hiding out in their cars lest to not alert the neighbors if possible, and maybe there are even some that got eyes on the backyard, but that's still our best chance. To actually go _through_ the backyard, however, we’d have to use the big sliding door, which just so happens to be in direct view of the doorway. But we’re sitting ducks here, so maybe if we’re fast enough…

“They’ve gone AWOL. We need them back,” the soldier says, a bit more bite to his otherwise pleasant tone.

“Seems to _me_ that these _hypothetical_ soldiers probably went AWOL for a reason.”

The man hums, amused. I shoot a look at Jean, who gestures towards the backdoor. Connie nods furiously beside him. “You’re funny,” the soldier continues. “Look, I really don’t want to hurt you, give them up and we’ll forget all about this.”

Jean tugs on my arm, jolting me from a trance I didn't even know I was in, pulling me towards the back door while keeping his footsteps as light as he can.

I’m in the middle of having an increasingly confusing conversation with my eyes with Jean and Connie that I’m pretty sure none of us are understanding, when the man says something indistinct and there's the distinct _click_ of a gun’s safety being turned off.

“Don’t,” Annie warns, but before I know what I’m doing, I’m suddenly ten steps behind them, staring at Mamá’s back and the soldier’s face, and it’s only then that I realize that I don’t actually have a _plan._ Jean curses somewhere behind me.

“013,” the man greets with a wry smile. “How nice of you to join us. This is your mother, right?” He knocks the barrel of the pistol against her stomach. She swallows heavily and her fingers flex at her sides, but she doesn't waver, no matter how much I want to scream at her to just back down. She doesn't push against the gun but she doesn't back away either, and the man is noticeably frustrated by this. 

I grit my teeth so hard they start to grind, fingers tensing into claws at my sides. The soldier huffs in twisted amusement and eyes me appraisingly. “Come along then- and bring your friends with you.” He gives a certain sarcastic drag to ‘friends.’ “Honest. No one has to get hurt.”

His face is disarmingly common and familiar in a vague way that tells me I might have past him in the facility halls once or twice, but nothing particular stands out about him- except, of course, the Glock in his hand. They’ll tell us that everything is for our own protection, and then they go ahead and have people like _this_ in their ranks. Way to go, SURVEY.

For a moment, I consider his proposition, but Mamá holds a hand out to stop me. “No, they don't need to go with you.”

The man lifts an unbelieving dark eyebrow, tilting his head. “Alright, I’ll bite. Why is that?”

“You don’t have any leverage here, do you?” she says. It’s not a question. “See, you can’t hurt me.” The man narrows his eyes. “You can’t make a scene, right? You can’t shoot your gun without alerting the entire neighborhood, and then what? What can you say?”

“You are quite mistaken-”

“If you really could afford to expose yourselves, you wouldn't have knocked on the door or bothered threatening me in the first place. So go ahead, keep waving that thing around.”

The man’s eyes dart to me, and I look back at the others, some of which are peeking around the corner at me. Connie mimics a kicking motion, trying to send me a message that I don’t understand at all. We really need to work on our silent communication. He huffs and shakes his head.

“Oh, I know what I can say.” The man starts, and I jerk my head back around. “Ah, I can imagine the article now: ‘Anguished mother blows her brains out months after her only son jumped off a bridge.’ Yeah, the public won’t question that one.”

I barely refrain from going up and doing something as stupid as punching him in the face for that, though Mamá looks relatively undisturbed, at least on the outside.

“In fact,” she continues as if he hadn't spoken, leaning back a bit and giving him an even better view through the doorway. “I’ve got security cameras in here. You’re trying to be discrete so you don’t let the world know that people with powers like these exist, right? Well, all the footage of them is up in the cloud, and I sent my daughter to the neighbors with all the information needed to retrieve and release it, so if you don't want that getting out, I suggest you leave us alone.”

I’m ninety-nine percent sure that's a lie, Mina is hiding in her room and she’s made no mentions of security cameras prior to this (and I’ve become quite good at scoping out cameras), but he doesn't call her bluff. In fact, his eyes dart up to the corners where the walls meet the ceiling and shuffles his feet.

“Do you really enjoy threatening old women so much? Does that fill your self-esteem?” She’s just talking now, keeping his attention.

With a barely restrained snarl, he brings his hand-held radio to his lips to talk into it, but he’s never able to, as the second he does, Connie zips forward and uses his momentum to send him flying down the front steps and onto the front lawn with a painful _thud._

“Come on, hurry, there's a shit ton of guys out there!” Connie exclaims as Mikasa throws the backdoor open.

My brain stalls as I’m torn, and I’m left shuffling in the middle of the room, not quite sure where my feet are trying to take me. 

“Go,” Mamá says for me, suddenly only a foot away. She gently shoves me towards the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mina peeking into the room. I bite my lip and nod as Jean grabs my arm. 

“Thank you, Elisa,” he says as he drags me behind him.

“Be safe!” she calls after us like we have any choice in the matter.

I don’t look back. Engines rev on the road in front of the house and wheels screech as shouts ring out, apparently more concerned about catching us than being inconspicuous by this point. I’m last to hop the fence bordering the neighbor's yard but Jean helps haul me up. I don't get the chance to see if this poor family has noticed us, too busy making sure not to trip on an exposed root or rock as we burst out of the backyard and take off down the street in the direction of the nearby forest, the same one that I practiced flying in all those months ago.

I’m not exactly as agile as I used to be with this new leg and all, but I’m not dragging us down- or maybe they’re just slowing down for me, I can’t tell. It would be much easier for all of us if I could fly, but that would bring _way_ too much unwanted attention towards us.

Connie stays close to the pack instead of sprinting ahead at lightning speed like he usually would, a testament to the graveness of this situation. Great. He’s leading us to the truck, but where are we going to go? We can’t keep driving forever, and I didn’t remember to bring my license (though it's no doubt void now, considering I’m, you know, dead as far as the world is concerned), we can only drive for so long before getting pulled over, and the last thing we need is to get fined or go to jail for driving without a license. Besides, we can only live under so many bridges before SURVEY finds us, and we don't have any money, papers that can get us jobs- none of us even have a _High school diploma_ we could use to get a job even if we were able to show our faces.

Eventually, at least a mile into the many-mile-wide forest, we come to a stop on an old dirt road and I bend over with my hands on my knees, panting. My leg hurts like _hell._ Jean stops beside me and shoots me a concerned look but I wave him off. 

Lifting my head, I survey the landscape, finding nothing but trees, dirt, a rusted-over sign, and more trees. A sad excuse of a river flows behind us, thin enough to step across. “Uh, Connie? Where's the truck?”

Connie looks around with wide eyes, rounding the nearest tree as if the truck is hiding behind it. He looks back at us. “Umm…”

At his expression, Eren, Jean, and surprisingly Annie let out a steady stream of increasingly creative curses.

“ _Where_ did you guys learn to curse like that?” I exclaim, well aware that the answer isn't even remotely important. 

“Levi,” all three of them say at the same time. Jean and Eren turn to glare at each other. Right. Of course. Why did I even bother to ask.

“I swear I left it right here,” Connie stutters, turning in a slow circle. 

“Well it’s not here now, is it?” Eren retorts. 

“Guys, lets all just calm down,” Reiner says, suddenly the peacekeeper. Even I can't help but turn to stare incredulously at him.

His voice snaps the fragile string of panic-filled peace between us and Eren stalks up to him, getting up in his face. “What the _fuck,_ Reiner?”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Reiner says, slouching and looking utterly defeated, holding himself like a wounded animal.

Eren splutters. “ _Sorry?”_

“I-I didn't mean to- well, I _did,_ but I regret it now-”

Eren isn't buying it and he opens his mouth to argue further, but Armin interrupts with a comforting hand on his shoulder before Eren can go off on a rant- or, just as likely, a rampage. “How did you contact them, Reiner?”

Reiner opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Suddenly remembering that I still have the paper, I fumble around my pocket for it before holding it out in front of me, text side facing them. 

Eren gawks at it and rounds on Reiner. “Where the ever-loving _fuck_ did you even get that?”

“The Commander gave it to me the day before we escaped... It’s his personal number.”

Eren’s face twists into a snarl, but his eyes are wavering with unspoken betrayal. “So he knew. He _knew_ you would rat us out.”

Jean points at the paper accusingly, looking between it and Reiner. “I- I _saw_ you with that, but- but…” he lets out a frustrated growl, but whether it's aimed towards Reiner or himself is up to interpretation.

Reiner shuffles in place sheepishly.

“Look, Reiner,” I say, not quite sure how to start. “We’re giving you another chance, alright?” Eren grumbles but one glare from me silences him. “But you _can’t_ do that again. I know it’s... I know you don't always have, uh, _control,_ but you just can’t be doing shit like this, man. I don’t know how to help you, _if_ we can help you, but… ya gotta try man.” I let my arms loosen at my sides, sighing. Not quite the eloquent speech I was going for but hopefully it got the point across.

“Go throw that out somewhere they won't find it,” Jean says to me, gesturing at the paper, disgust evident in his voice. 

The dried leaves fold and break under my feet as I take measured steps towards the little creek, the crunches mixing with the sound of running water. The others turn away with mutters and sharp, angry breaths.

I hold the slip of cardstock over the clear water, staring at the black numbers that somehow managed to do all of this. I release it. It flutters down to the water. My eyes follow it as it descends. 

With a hiss at myself, I bend to catch it before it can reach the surface, clenching it in my fist and quickly pocketing it. Why? I stare unseeingly at the trickle of a river, opening and closing my hand in my pocket, running my fingers over the sharp side paper and giving myself a shallow paper cut that heals within the next second. 

I have the feeling that this has the potential to be valuable in the future. We need all the resources we can get. Maybe we can use this against them somehow, or… something. This is getting stupider the more I think about it. I glance back at the group behind me; none of them are looking my way, too absorbed in figuring out what to do. They wouldn't want me to keep it, and for good reason.

But, against my better judgment, I don’t take it out of my pocket and let it melt in the stream, but I do let my thumb trace the numbers again before turning back to the others.

**8:32 pm, November 11th, 2022**

**Jean Kirstein**

Cities are a terrible place to avoid unwanted eyes.

After an hour of wandering through the forest with no sign of SURVEY on our trail, we emerge to a much more crowded section of the city that Marco tells us is ‘downtown’.

To say I’m overwhelmed would be an understatement, and one quick glance at the others confirms that I’m not the only one. It smells so strongly of gasoline fumes that I can feel it behind my eyes, and the cars, people, and buzzing of electricity is _loud._ I try not to gawk at the people in colorful clothes walking down the sidewalks or the cars stuck in traffic trying to force their way down the streets, but this is more life than I’ve seen in, well, a _long_ time.

I wrinkle my nose at the smell of trash coming out of one of the alleys. Annie throws her hood up and Marco hunches his shoulders. Bertholdt varies between looking around in wonder and jumping at every closing car door or shout from a pedestrian, and Reiner hangs off of him like a lost puppy. Mikasa and Armin are lost in low conversation, eyes darting around the streets. 

“And to think, I was finally getting somewhere on _Bloodborne,”_ Connie mopes.

“You didn’t even get past the second boss, Connie,” Sasha reminds him, if only to fill the silence.

“But I would’ve, I know it.”

Well, a boy can dream.

“It’s way more crowded during the day,” Marco says conversationally as we pick our way down the more deserted parts of the streets in the least-suspicious manner possible.

More crowded? Is that even possible? 

“Where, exactly, are we going?” Eren asks, the question we’ve all had in our head but didn't want to say.

“Guess we should find somewhere to spend the night,” Marco ventures, looking to each of us for confirmation. “With any luck, SURVEY is still searching the forest. I doubt they’d think we’d show our faces in the city.”

Armin nods thoughtfully. “We can use the crowds to our advantage. SURVEY doesn't want people to find out about us, right? We can use that as a threat: mess with us and we flash the public your wings or something.”

“You act like the public would care what happens to a group of freaks like us,” I mutter, stepping carefully over a puddle of what I _hope_ is water.

“Don’t say that,” Marco chastises. “Of course they’ll care.”

I shoot him a dubious look. “Maybe…”

Armin clears his throat uncomfortably. “We won’t know until we try.”

I glare at the concrete between my feet, taking care not to step on any of the cracks out of some stupid lizard-brain need. I can’t see an end to this. SURVEY will keep chasing us, we’ll keep running, we’ll try to fight, we’ll lose then get captured, and assuming we aren't _killed_ , we’ll escape again and they’ll chase us- it’s a never-ending wheel from hell that isn't going to stop until either SURVEY is gone (unlikely) or we’re shot dead (much more likely).

We _could,_ theoretically, expose ourselves to the public, but… it’s too risky, and frankly, I don’t want to have to deal with _people._ Marco seems to have a rather optimistic view of how people act around things they don’t understand- I would be less than surprised if they agreed with what SURVEY was doing, I mean, who doesn't want supersoldiers? If they can make us into a commodity, why wouldn't they? And, just imagining the look on my family’s faces when they find out that I’m not… what? Missing? Dead? I don't want to have to face them again. The last thing they ever saw me do was shatter Cami’s arm for Christ's sake.

“Hey,” Sasha pipes up, yanking me from my thoughts. “What about over there?” She points at a half-constructed office building, scaffolding still adorning the walls, but looks like it has been abandoned for quite a while. The windows are boarded up with plywood and cardboard, if there even are windows in the first place. I can’t see the inside from the street- ideal, for our purposes.

“The important thing is that it’s got a roof,” Mikasa mutters, and I have to agree.

“Isn't it a bit, like, obvious though?” Connie asks warily.

“There are tons of unfinished buildings in this part of town,” Marco says, examining the structure. “District ran out of funds or something. This one shouldn’t stand out. If it looks safe inside it’s probably not a bad idea to use it to lay low for a while.”

Well, if Marco says it’s fine, it’s good in my book.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The inside of the building is rather dank and dusty, but it’s miles better than wandering around the street all night. It was easy enough to get in- there was a giant hole in the wire fence surrounding it, ironically right under the _No Trespassing_ sign. Connie had a good laugh at that. Various tags, curse words, and increasingly detailed drawings of dicks are spray-painted on the concrete walls, confirming our suspicions that it's unlikely anyone will be showing up in the morning to get to work.

I don’t think any of us will actually be able to sleep, but we can pretend to, I suppose. Concrete isn't exactly Memory Foam. If we wander around the street we’ll certainly be caught eventually, a group of ten lurking around the streets isn't exactly inconspicuous. 

Leaning against a bright green _FUCK,_ I send myself into a controlled slide until I’m sitting on the ground with my back against the wall. Bright street lights cut through the cracks of the boards covering the windows, illuminating the wide room we’re in with light that seems to wash everything over with grey. It's impossible to tell when night darkens because the city lights keep the sky a dark, starless purple-grey.

The chopping drone of a helicopter sounds overhead and I resist the urge to cover my ears. With our luck it's probably a SURVEY helicopter. Every loud car that drives by, every jeer or laugh from drunken passerbys, is somehow SURVEY. I fix my gaze at the boarded window longingly, fantasizing about telling them to fuck off.

When I pull my legs up to my chest, I’m reminded about what's in my pocket when it digs into my thigh. I pull it out, turning it over in my fingers. A little wooden figurine of a starfish.

 _“What the fu- hell is that?” I ask, mildly disgusted at whatever is staring back at me from page 394 of Mina’s ‘_ **_Encyclopedia of Marine Animals’_ ** _._

 _Mina regards me out of the corner of her eye with a look_ _that blatantly calls me stupid. “A starfish- duh. They even look like their name,” she explains, pointing at the thousands of little, wiggly things pictured on the underside of said starfish._

 _Ew. Maybe the sea isn't really all that great after all- I think I might leave the whole ‘ocean’ thing to Armin. “I don’t know what you’re on, but that is not_ _a fish,” I say._

_“It's not an actual fish, that's just its name,” she huffs, frustrated that I don’t quite have her level of intellect._

_I raise my hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”_

_“They’re my favorite animal,” she adds, glaring at me as if warning me not to say anything._

_“That’s your favorite animal?” I ask incredulously anyway. “That thing? Why not like, a cat or something?”_

_“Cause I don’t like cats. I like starfish,” she says resolutely, crossing her arms. After another disbelieving quirk of my eyebrows, she gets to her feet and scans the top of the bookshelf before grabbing something with an ‘aha’. She holds out her hand to me, showing me the item._

_It’s a little starfish about half the size of her palm, carved from wood and sanded to smoothness._

_“Papa made it for me a while ago,” she explains._

_“Ah…” I respond eloquently. I've gathered that he’s not around, but it doesn't seem to be because of any bad blood. “What-um, where is your dad?”_

_“He’s dead,” she says flatly, setting the starfish carving back onto the bookshelf next to a dolphin snowglobe._

_“Oh. Sorry,” I say, feeling irrevocably awkward._

_“It’s fine,” she sniffs, turning back to the book._

I sigh, staring at it for another moment before putting it back carefully into my pocket, zipping the opening closed. 

She gave it to me- shoved it into my hands, really- and made me promise to give it back to her someday when we’re all safe and Marco could come home- _stay_ home. 

“ _This way, you’ll never forget that I’ll beat you up if you let Marco get hurt,”_ she’d said. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that she’s just a little kid. I’ll hold myself to that promise, though, even if she made it for me, which isn't exactly how promises work, but that's beside the point. I can’t let Mina down now, can I?

Marco sits beside me with a sigh, leaning his head against the wall. “Geez,” is all he says.

I snort. “Yeah. Geez.”

We sit there in silence long enough for Sasha to eat her way through all the food she brought (I better not hear her complaining tomorrow) and for Armin to fall asleep with his head on Eren’s shoulder.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I must have dozed off at some point, because when I blink my eyes open, morning light is filtering through the cracks in the boards and my ass hurts like _hell_ from sitting on the concrete all night. Marco isn't beside me anymore, but his backpack is still there.

It takes me a second to find what awoke me, but soft mutters reach my ears as my blurry vision clears. I’m the last one to wake, and the others are huddled over something in the middle of the room, whispering amongst themselves- except for Reiner, Annie, and Bertholdt, who are nowhere to be seen, but I’m too tired to think of the connotations of that.

“What happened?” I ask, pushing myself to my feet and fighting against a yawn. They look up when I squeeze myself in between Marco and Sasha, and Armin wordlessly hands me a sheet of paper. I furrow my eyebrows; loopy blue words are scratched onto it in dry ink.

_We left. You all sleep much too soundly. Don’t ask where I got this pen. Don’t try to follow us, this is for your own good. If Reiner turned on us once, he’ll do it again, and I’d rather not let him drag all of us down. Worst case scenario, we get captured but you guys stay free, which means there is still hope. Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine. We can find a car for Bertholdt to hot-wire and leave this city, and I’d suggest you do the same. I don’t know where we’re going, but we’re going somewhere far away, maybe get fake passports to leave the country or something, I’m not quite sure how all of this works yet. First, we’re going to try to find Reiner treatment. We’re not going to abandon him after all we’ve been through, so don’t worry about that._

_SURVEY isn’t invincible, despite what you might think. I think I know that better than anyone. I’ll see what I can do out here, but if you really want them gone you're going to have to do it yourselves, none of us will be any use in the long run. Reiner is unreliable, Bertholdt’s too anxious, and I’m_ _not usefu_ _a selfish bastard. You have Armin- he’ll figure something out. Expose us to the public if you think it’ll help, lay low if you think that’s better. Don’t die._

_-Annie_

“Huh,” I say eloquently, passing the letter back to Armin. That's both surprising and not surprising at the same time. They’ve always been like their own separate group from us, but I didn’t expect for them to just up and leave… besides, I like Reiner. It’ll suck not having him around anymore, we could have just- I don’t know, kept a better eye on him or something.

“So they’re just going to leave us?” Eren glares at the letter as if it causes him personal offense. “Just like that? No warning? That's pretty shitty.”

“No, I get why they did it,” Marco counters, skimming over the letter again. “She’s not wrong- it’s more dangerous to be traveling in such a big, noticeable group. Especially when we can’t trust one of them. SURVEY will be looking for a group of ten anyway.”

First Ymir and Historia, now them. We get smaller every day. I look at the faces around me one by one, noting the evidence of fatigue and reminisce of SURVEY life: the thin scars crisscrossing the back of Marco’s arms, the band of red around Sasha’s neck still left from SURVEY tightening her collar after she scratched at it one too many times, Connie’s slightly crooked nose from the time a guard kicked him little too hard- it’s all there.

Mikasa, who now has the letter, crumples it up with a sigh and drops it on the ground, breaking off from the group to peer through one of the windows, face unreadable. Unlike Eren and Armin who can easily be defined by their respective, unhidden natures, Mikasa is a walking, talking hall of mirrors that somehow both manages to reflect and absorb everything going on around her. I've never really been able to understand her.

Marco nudges the wad of paper with his foot. “Well… what's done is done. I don’t know them as well as you guys, but I know Annie is beyond capable of staying out of trouble- and eliminating said trouble if need be. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

“Hey, guys,” Mikasa interjects, still squinting through the gap in the boards. “I think they’re here.”

“SURVEY?” I ask, stomach dropping. She nods firmly.

Rushing to the windows with the others, I peer through the gap; if you weren't looking for it, it would look like a normal, if a bit deserted, city street, but I can make out black figures coming through the alleys, keeping clear of the populated places. There are some civilian clothed ones too, I realize. A man pulls out a handheld radio in a restaurant down the street that I can barely see due to the angle, then clips it back to his belt. One of the prowling figures changes course.

“They must be sweeping the whole city,” Mikasa says, stepping back from the window. “They don’t know we’re here.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” I say lowly, backing away from the window.

“We’re pinned in here, and the second story is open- we’ll be visible if we go up there.”

“Fuck,” I hiss to myself, scanning the building. Wide-open concrete walls, nothing on the floor.

“There’s a room back there-'' Marco says, pointing to a doorway half-hidden by a pillar that I somehow overlooked. “I’m pretty sure it’s connected to the alley behind it- whichever way they come we should be able to ambush and subdue them if need be.”

I turn to look back out the window- a tac-vested soldier is patrolling the outside of the fence- the hole is only a dozen yards down. There's no way he’d overlook it.

“Alright, yeah, let’s go.”

The room is relatively small, and has the only furniture in the entire building, a long, dusty desk and a few chairs that the rats have gotten to. There’s a telltale shout as the soldier finds the opening and an almost inaudible rattle of wire as he ducks in.

There are two doorways in the room, the doorless one we came in, and the one to my back that leads out of the building. Let's hope he doesn't find that one first. Mikasa positions herself against the wall beside the open doorway, and the rest of us duck out of sight and into the corners of the room.

The metal front door screeches as the soldier pushes it open, and his footfalls echo through the building as he chats through his radio. Doesn't seem to be taking his job seriously- that's good for us. 

I furrow my eyebrows when the footfalls pause, and there's the crinkle of paper. 

Aw _shit_. 

How could we have forgotten about _that?_

“They were here,” the soldier says to the radio, voice much more serious. “Looks like they split up.”

Something incomprehensible crackles through the radio and he responds, “No, doesn’t look like it. I’d think they’d bolt the second they saw us.”

My breaths still as the footsteps get closer.

“Yeah,” he’s saying into his radio. “Almost done with this one- seriously, are they expecting us to search the whole city? I better get fucking rai-”

Eren dives forward and slaps the radio out of his hand, setting it clattering to the ground while Mikasa grabs him in a choke-hold, holding him in place despite his struggles.

“Get his weapons” she orders, dodging a swipe towards her face. Connie hurries to comply, unclipping his pistol from its holster, patting his sides and legs to check for others but coming away clean.

“Here ya go,” Connie says, naturally turning to Sasha and holding out the gun handle-first. 

Sasha regards it hesitantly for a long moment, her face twisting up a bit. Connie tilts his head, obviously not getting what’s wrong, but before he can ask, Sasha takes it gingerly and checks the cartridge, then double-checks the safety, and slips it under her waistband, pulling her shirt over it.

Mikasa kicks the soldier in the back of his knees and forces him to kneel. “I’m going to let go of you now, and you're not going to run because I won’t hesitate to kill you.” 

The man snarls, twisting his shoulders trying to throw her off. “F-fuck you,” he chokes out.

“Don’t test me,” she hisses, voice colder than I’ve ever heard it. “You know what I can do. I could suck all the air from your lungs and watch you suffocate if I wanted to. Jean here could shatter all of your bones in an instant. You are absurdly underpowered. I _suggest_ you back down.”

“Do what she says, _please_ ,” encourages Marco. “She’s not lying.”

When Mikasa next releases her arms, he doesn't struggle, and lets her shove him against the wall, but not without shooting her a look of blatant hatred. Man, he can’t be much older than me.

“ _Uh- Hello? You alright? We lost you. Do you need backup?”_ a female voice crackles through the radio.

“Say it’s clear,” Mikasa orders, holding it out to him, making sure that the button you push to talk is turned off.

The soldier scoffs, voice a little raspy. “Don’t threaten me-”

“-Oh, you want threatening?” Eren growls, orange lightning crackling up and down his arms as he gets up in his face. The soldier balks, going pale, but returns to glaring up at him a moment later. Stupid.

“Say it’s clear,” Mikasa repeats.

He turns to her, visibly steeling himself. “Like hell I will-“

Mikasa brings her foot down on his groin and he shrieks. I wince sympathetically as Mikasa quirks a brow at the soldier’s whimpering form. I make a mental note to remind myself to never piss her off. 

“Pretty sure you just permanently sterilized him,” Connie comments, scrunching up his nose. Mikasa shoves the radio into the soldier’s hand without comment.

“All clear, no backup needed,” the soldier wheezes into the radio, voice, impressively, only pitching a little. 

“Mikasa…” Marco sighs. 

“Don’t be mad at me. It worked,” Mikasa says, staring down at the soldier with an air of distaste.

“We should kill you, you know,” Eren says, leaning forward.

“ _But,_ we’re not going to do that,” Armin mutters into Eren’s ear, pushing him back. 

The soldier, red-haired with unflattering green-brown eyes, and not all that notable, looks over each of us. I know that look. He hates Deviants. No _us_ particularly, but Deviants in general. I remember this soldier; he used to like to kick me around or trip me up in the halls because he knew I couldn’t do anything about it. He must have gotten reassigned because after one day I never saw him again- until now. Oh, how the tables have turned. 

“What’s your name?” Marco asks, pulling up a chair and sitting in front of him, some poor way to give the illusion that they’re in an equal position. 

He eyes him suspiciously. “Floch, if you must know.”

“Floch,” Marco repeats. “If you stay quiet about this, we’ll let you leave. Never have to see us again.”

“Yeah, okay,” Floch nods furiously, lips pulling up in a vague approximation of a pained smile. “Of course, I won’t tell- you have the high ground here. I won’t say a word.”

“He’s lying,” Eren warns unnecessarily.

“Yeah, I got that,” Marco says flatly. He braces his arms on the chair and leans forward, suddenly looking much bigger than before. Woah- he got like, all serious there. He’s good at looking intimidating when he needs to be.

“She could put a shot in you from 200 yards away,” he states, nodding towards Sasha, but I’m too busy studying the way the muscles in his arms flex as he drums his fingers on the side of the chair to really notice.

“Yeah,” Floch says, leaning forward, a small grin playing on his face. “But she wouldn't. We all saw how much she freaked after killing someone. She won't do it again.”

Marco huffs a laugh. “Yeah. You’re right.” 

Floch squints at Marco suspiciously, shifting back, shoulders relaxing a minuscule amount.

“ _But_ ,” Marco continues, “I don’t think _he_ has the same reservations.” He gestures to Eren, who nods smugly in confirmation. “But he’ll handle it much sooner, and I don't think it would be as painless as a bullet to the head.”

Marco’s foot taps on the ground- he doesn't mean it- he’s nervous- but Floch doesn't notice. His Adam’s Apple bobs like a particularly large beetle trying to make its way up under his skin, only to slide back down. “Fuck you- y- you- you _mutants.”_

“Don’t strain yourself,” Mikasa mutters.

 _Oh,_ I get it. I see what’s going on here. 

“ _What?”_ I ask mockingly, pouting my bottom lip like a toddler and catching the attention of everyone in the room. “Are you _jealous?”_

He glances at me in surprise, as if the wall were the one to speak. “Why the fuck would I be jealous?”

“Let’s see,” I say, lifting three fingers and counting them off just because I feel like being a bitch. “One: for years you kept kicking me while I was down to stroke your fragile ego- because look at you, a normal human beating a powerful Deviant! Two: you took this fucking job. Three: I saw the way you stared at Eren’s lighting- you want that for yourself, don't you? Sad that you never manifested a power?” He says nothing but his furious glare tells me all I need to know. “So instead of living with your disappointment like a normal fucking person you decided to lord over a bunch of fucking kids because you’re just that insecure.”

Floch splutters, a pleasing variety of emotions crossing his face.

“Well don’t be,” I say, dropping the mocking tone. “Because it fucking sucks, and we have to deal with people like _you.”_

He seems surprised that I have more than two brain cells to rub together. Recovering, he begins to prickle, lips turning into a tight line as he eyes us.

“Alright. You got me. They don’t pay me enough for this shit. I won’t tell the Corps you guys are here, because I know _he_ will come after me, even if you try to stop him, and I’d really rather not be electrocuted to death,” he says, looking at Eren warily.

Mikasa nods sharply after a moment.

“... I’m gonna need my gun back though.” He’s met with blank stares. “You know, how am I gonna explain why it’s missing. Should I say I dropped it somewhere?”

Mikasa stares silently at him just long enough for him to wilt under the scrutiny, then grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him up, taking the handgun from Sasha and firmly sliding it back into its holster.

“Go,” she says tersely, shoving him towards the door. “And if I see one more eye turn towards this building I’ll kill you myself.”

He swallows dryly and pushes open the door halfway- before stopping in his tracks and turning back around. I step back, wondering what he’s planning. A second ago it looked like he couldn't get out of here fast enough.

“They want 013 now too, you know. Dr. Hangi was successful,” he says smugly.

I furrow my eyebrows. “What?”

“She found a way to transfer 13’s healing to rats- she just needs more samples before trying it on people.”

What’s he playing at? Why tell us now? 

But then I look back at Marco and I understand.

Goddammit.

Marco tenses, taking a small step forward. “What?”

Floch grins victoriously. “Mhm. She can cut them open and they heal right up. _God_ , imagine what this could do for humanity.”

I plant myself in front of Marco, who still looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Fuck off.”

Floch shrugs as if he’s somehow the one in control here. “Something to think about,” he says, and lets the door swing shut behind him.

I stare at the closed door for a moment too long, long enough for Marco to step away from me and gather his head in his hands.

“Someone should probably watch him to make sure he wasn't lying,” Connie mutters.

“He wasn’t,” is all Mikasa says.

Turning to Marco, I’m not sure what to say. “He could have been lying about that, though,” I offer feebly.

“He wasn’t,” Marco mumbles.

“Hey,” I say, trying to get him to look at me. “Even if that was true, you don’t owe Hangi anything. So what if some rats she stabbed survived? That doesn't mean anything.”

“But it does,” he says miserably. “If whatever she did to me got results… that could help people.”

“Marco…”

“No, don’t you get it?” He says, desperation bleeding into his tone. “She could really help people with that! But me being here means it won't have a chance.”

“No. Nuh-uh. You don’t get to feel guilty about that.” I wag my finger like some school teacher. “You don’t owe the world anything, either. In fact, it’s been pretty crappy to you, so I wouldn't feel bad if I were you.” But that’s the thing, I’m not him. 

Predictably, Marco looks entirely unconvinced, but he stays silent. No, he’s going to be wallowing this undeserved guilt forever, I can already tell. He’s way too kind for his own good.

“Jean’s right,” Eren says, and I almost do a double-take. That’s the _last_ thing I’d ever expect to hear from Eren’s mouth. Marco looks up though, so I’m apparently not the only one surprised. “Be realistic. On the off-chance it _actually_ works on people, do you really think they’d let it out of SURVEY?”

Marco blinks. 

Huh. Even I hadn't thought of that. Look at that, Eren using his brain for once.

“If they released that vaccine or medication or what have you, they’d have to explain how they made it, which would mean revealing what they were doing, which probably wouldn't bide well for them.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Get whatever stupid idea about turning back and letting Hangi do her thing out of you’re head. You aren't going back whether you like it or not.”

“All we can do is keep moving forward,” Eren says. “Don’t dwell on it. He just wanted to get in your head.”

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Floch wasn't lying, SURVEY moved off this block and to another one, completely bypassing us. Good. I know for a fact Marco and Armin wouldn't allow anyone to _actually_ kill him, but a bit of pressure never hurts.

But then presents the problem: what can we do now?

Even ignoring the obvious fact that we can’t hide here forever, we’ve eaten the little food we packed, and we don’t have money to buy more, and it’s starting to get very, _very_ , boring sitting around and staring at the grey walls.

Everyone shuffles their feet and I know we’re all thinking the same thing, but no one’s saying it.

Fuck, I’m tired of this. “What should we do, really? What's plausible?”

All eyes turn to me, some questioning, others verging on annoyed for interrupting whatever thought-train was going through their head. Oops. I don’t like being put on the spot like this. I probably shouldn't have said anything. Too late now.

“What are we supposed to do?” I ask again, throwing my hands out half-heartedly then letting them fall to my sides, more defeated than anything. “Seriously. I’m open to suggestions.”

“We know where the base is…” Marco trails off.

“And? What are we gonna do? Waltz in there and destroy it?” Marco regards me with a look that says something along the lines of: _I mean, yeah, that's what I was thinking. Apparently you're not actually all that open to suggestions._ I shake my head. “Even if we _do_ destroy it, that doesn't mean SURVEY is dismantled. It’s government-run, right? They'll get more soldiers and make another base and find more Deviants after they ‘tie up their loose ends’ by killing us. It’s useless.”

“It’s not useless,” Marco retorts, taking a step towards me. “There's always something we can do. We can’t just give up- then we really lost.”

Screwing my eyes shut, I shake my head again, sighing despairingly. “That's not how life works, the power of friendship or whatever isn't gonna save us. We keep going the way we’re going and we’ll wind up dead by the end of this,” I finish, letting my voice trail off into the heavy silence.

“If I may,” Armin ventures, approaching slowly, and somehow his mere presence seems to calm the tension hanging taunt in the air. “What happened to the Jean that got us out of SURVEY?” he asks, meeting my eyes.

I blink at him, confused. “What do you mean?” I’m not quite sure I like where he’s going with this.

“We only escaped because of you- if you hadn't gotten us together we’d have been ‘put down’ and you’d be off somewhere getting brainwashed into the Commander’s killing machine. You didn't decide to sit back and let stuff happened then. You took the initiative and got us out of there and it _worked.”_

“But we _ran._ We didn't stay and fight. We're doing the same thing right now, because that’s what I _do_ , but this time it’s not working.”

“So?” Eren starts, crossing his arms. “We fight then.”

“How in the world do we do that?”

“I think you're forgetting that they’re scared of _us._ They know we’re more powerful than them. We could hit them, _hard._ Hard enough that they’ll never think of trying this again and we can go free.”

“But-”

“Jean,” Armin says softly. “We can’t keep running forever. Eren’s right. This won't fix itself on its own. Annie knew that too.”

Yet she still abandoned us.

“Don’t be a coward, Jean. We hit them hard, we hit them fast, and before they can even think about drawing their guns we wipe them out,” Eren says as if it’s that simple.

“We can’t assume it will work that way! Millions of things could go wrong, and I don’t want one of us to die because of some stupid mistake!” I’m angry now, they aren't understanding- _won’t_ understand. Annie had the right idea- leaving us and going off the radar- because at this rate we might as well be welcoming our deaths through the front door with open arms.

“Me, you, Mikasa-” Eren points to each of us in turn. “We’re _powerful-_ they’d be dead before they knew what hit them-”

“No, alright!?” I exclaim. “I- I’m not killing anyone else! I can’t- I just can't do that- ugh!” I growl to myself, storming off to the same room as before- they only place in this damn building that has any illusion of privacy.

I distantly hear Marco call after me, and Armin telling him not to follow me, to give me space, and Connie getting mad at Eren, but my head is somewhere else, though I’m not sure where. My mind is equal measures blank and filled with overflowing, unwelcome thoughts. I don’t fucking care that I’m powerful, I’m not going to fucking kill anyone else. Eren just needs to get that through his thick skull.

I’m a ducking Red-class for Christ’s sake, I don’t want to become the reason why SURVEY decide to kill most Red-classes they come across- if I haven’t already. 

I sit on the same dusty chair Marco was on before, resting my elbow on my knee and rubbing at my temple. Touching the little starfish figure through the fabric of my pocket, I realize that for the first time in quite a while the daylight is starting to hurt my eyes. If this was a year ago I’m sure I’d have my blackout goggles on by this point.

Mulling over my thoughts, the anger is quickly replaced with hopelessness. I feel like a mouse scurrying across the ground while a hawk stalks from above- helpless, scared, and way out of its league. For once I’m happy that Marco isn't with me- if he was I’d probably start crying, and he _really_ doesn't need to see that.

I don’t know how long I sit there, but it couldn't have been more than half an hour until Eren appears in the doorway.

He lets the awkward silence sit for a few long moments before speaking.

“I’m sorry I’ve been kind of an asshole to you for, like, ever, I guess.” I look up in surprise but he refuses to meet my eyes. “You’re an asshole too though, this isn't all on me.”

“What?” I ask even though I heard him quite clearly. Am I dreaming? This has to be a hallucination. Sure, he looks physically pained, but still. _Oh_ , I know, this must be one of Smith’s illusions. _Come out come out wherever you are, you motherfucker._

Eren glares at me. “See? You just did it.”

I stop myself from rolling my eyes, turning back to my feet. “Yeah… guess I’m sorry too. It’s my fault we got off to a rocky start.”

“Damn right,” Eren scoffs.

A beat.

“... Did Armin tell you to apologize?” I venture, smirking when his half-glare hardens.

“Unimportant,” he sniffs.

I’m about to open my trap again and say something probably a little mean but mostly good-natured, when I remember that truck-driver from months ago. I never _did_ tell Eren that he knew his parents. Shit. Somehow I forgot all about that until now. 

“... Hey, Eren-”

Something clatters outside and I freeze.

Usually there’s something going on behind that door, whether it be the wind, some motorcyclist show-off revving his engine, or something as small as a rat scurrying against the ground, but after that crash, it’s completely, motionlessly, silent.

Eren heard it too, and stays quiet. He knows better than to interrupt the group's personal watch-dog when he’s trying to listen. 

Something, no- multiple _‘somethings’_ shuffle on the other side of the door.

I stand up, stilling my breath to hear better, but the blood rushing in my ears muffle everything anyway. “Do you hear that?”

Eren nods slowly. “I think someone’s there.” He brings his hands up, electricity starting to crackle on his skin. 

“Put that away,” I hiss, waving at his arms. “They might not know about Deviants- if they see that we’re really fucked.” Eren scowls but lowers his hands. 

There's no mistaking it: footsteps come to a stop behind the closed door, paired with soft breaths. I tense, keeping my eyes pinned on the thick metal.

The door is pushed open a few inches and a pair amber, up-turned eyes peek through the opening.

Not giving myself time to think, I surge forward and grab whoever it is by the collar of their shirt, hauling them into the room and pinning them against the wall with my elbow at their throat. I’m met with a woman who can’t be any older than me, wavy hair almost the same color as mine, and eyes that would probably be giving off a distinctly cat-like look if they weren't widened in surprise.

“ _Woah_! Chill, chill!” she stammers, raising her hands beside her head. “We bring you no harm.”

“We?” I press. Eren yanks the door open, eyes widening at whatever he sees behind it.

“Yeah, _we,”_ he confirms, slamming it shut and wedging a chair under the doorknob just as someone starts banging on the other side.

The woman laughs uncomfortably. “Um, hey, wanna let me go-”

She chokes on the end of that sentence when I press my elbow harder against her jugular, not so hard that she can't breathe, but enough to threaten it.

“ _O_ kay, okay,” she placates breathily, tilting her head back and wrapping her hands around my arm, trying to pry it off of her throat, giving me a tremulous smile when I don’t budge. “Okay, I’ll admit, we shouldn't have snuck up on you, but we had to scope the area, alright?” she says.

“Who are you?” I beseech.

“Look,” she says, bypassing the question and hesitantly releasing one of her hands to bring a finger up. “I’m like you, see?”

A little flame ignites on her fingertip, blue at the middle and fading to orange. I stare at it in shock, eyes darting over her skin, her sleeve, trying to see if this is some sort of joke, but there's no lighter, no trick, only her hand.

“Yeah, there you go. See?” she says, using my distraction to wiggle herself out of my grip. 

Eren watches her warily as she backs away to stand in front of the table, brushing herself off dramatically. 

“We’re here to help, alright?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plotty plotty chapter, this one. This isn't a slowburn, it’s straight molasses. I promise it’ll happen at some point guys :,) (Floch stans, please don’t crucify me I beg you, I needed a jerky/wimpy character and he just fit the bill)
> 
> School is starting tomorrow so updates every two weeks will probably be the new norm, possibly every three, because SOMEONE decided to take way too many AP classes (shoot me now). I’m 60% sure next chapter will take three weeks because it’s quite important and I need to make sure I get it right, but we’ll see.
> 
> … Hey guys, remember that one Archive warning up there? Yeah…..…. Heh……


	14. When the bullet hits the bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is guys, the one chapter that inspired this entire fic. Hell has been unleashed I’m so sorry please don’t come for me.
> 
> Also, by the way, a few manga characters are very very vaguely mentioned in this chapter, but there are absolutely no spoilers regarding the actual series I promise. They were originally supposed to be much more important, but I ended up scraping that subplot, so now they are totally background, and besides, I want to keep this completely friendly for anime-onlies, I don't even name-drop them. So yes, manga readers, those two very vague descriptions of people are who you're thinking of.

**9:26 am, November 12th, 2022**

**Levi Ackerman**

“Are you going to cooperate?”

Elisa Bodt stares at the metal table in front of her, the overhead lights reflecting off of the surface. She keeps her hands folded in her lap and decidedly ignores Levi- or Agent Ackerman as he introduced himself- in the chair across from her. 

He continues to stare at her, not backing down. She glances up nervously a few times, only to fix her gaze back on the tabletop.

Eventually, she breaks. “Am I under arrest or not? Because you can't keep me here if-”

“Now why would you be under arrest?” Levi interrupts, and she snaps her teeth shut. “Are you going to give us a reason to arrest you?”

Elisa leans back, biting her lip. She knows that she made a mistake.

“Besides,” he continues, voice dry as if they were just discussing the weather. “You are not in official police custody, we can keep you here as long as we like.”

“I have a daughter-”

“We know, and you sent her to a friend's house, remember?”

Elisa breathes in slowly, but he can see her fingers twitch in anger. Her eyes flick the two-way mirror in the wall to her right, and her lips pull into a frown as she glares pointlessly at the mirror, probably hoping that she’s looking vaguely in the direction of someone. Levi knows Erwin is behind there, most likely not paying all that much attention to them and instead ruffling through the files he always has on hand. He trusts Levi to deal with the mother.

“We need you to stay silent,” he reminds her for the third time, but this time, she doesn't immediately launch into arguments, thankfully. “You don’t have proof anyway. No one will believe you.”

She sucks on her teeth, subdued. “... Don’t hurt them, please.”

He hates his job. “It is not our objective to hurt them, it is our objective to retrieve them before they can cause further damage-”

“ _Bullshit,”_ she hisses, leaning forward and planting her hands on the table. Levi holds up a silent hand, telling whoever is watching through the mirror not to send in backup. “Marco told me all about it. You were going to kill all of them. All except that Jean boy.”

“Actually, we want your son now too,” he says plainly. “He’s proven useful. We need him alive.”

“ _Useful,”_ she spits, disgust written on her features. Levi doesn't blame her. “You do realize that that's not any better right? Especially if you’re going to kill those other kids. _Kids!_ They should be with their family- most of them don't even remember their parent’s faces! Let them free! They don't deserve this!”

How he wishes it were that simple.

“Ma’am, it is dangerous for-”

“I’m done talking,” she interrupts, standing and squaring her shoulders resolutely. “Either arrest me or don’t but I’m leaving.” She marches to the door and throws it open, slamming it behind her.

Levi sighs, sitting back on the chair, backrest digging uncomfortably under his shoulder blades. That wasn't how he wanted that to go.

He doesn't blame her, not one bit. If anything, she’s been remarkably composed. But they won't just let them go. Levi’s done what he can. He gave them a way out, they took it, and they succeeded for the most part. It's up to them what they want to do now.

Once Levi judges that Bodt has had ample time to leave the building, he stands and closes the door behind him, letting out a breath before making his way down the hallway. 

“Why do I always get the shitty jobs that involve talking to people?” he mutters to no one in particular as he enters one of the side-rooms, but Hangi responds anyway, face buried in printed scans.

“I know right? You have the emotional range of a stick. A stick with consciousness, sure, but a stick all the same.”

Levi cuts her a blank look. Now she’s rifling through papers on the table, glasses almost falling off of her face.

“Is she going to blab?” Hangi asks conversationally, but Levi can tell she isn't really paying attention.

“Couldn't if she wanted to. They’ll think her insane.”

She hums. “You should let me out there, once we find them again- we have to make sure we retrieve 013- and I’d love to see if they do anything to fight us, maybe the adrenaline could make them more powerful-”

“Do you have any sort of field training?”

“... No?”

“Then you don’t get to go on the field.”

She groans, pouting like a child. “Come _on_ , I didn't miss last week’s lesson on capturing rogue teenagers, I’ll do fine.”

Levi stares at her, deadpan.

“That's- ah- a joke... right. A stick.”

Levi sighs.

Hangi spins on her wheeled stool that seems to be glued to her ass, fiddling with a new Manila folder. “We still have the ‘copter over the building?”

“Yeah, at a distance. No sign of them yet, we don’t have the available soldiers to storm it, but we’re watching for any people or cars entering or leaving.”

She hums, chewing on the back of her pen. He barely refrains from slapping it out of her hand. Disgusting. It’s _Hangi’s_ pen- who knows where it’s been. “What will you do if you do spot them?”

He technically doesn't get the final say in this, but he answers anyway. “Follow them. See where they hide. Pin them.” He flicks a strand of hair from his eyes, glaring at nothing. Energy thrums under his skin and he flexes his fingers. “I’m trying to weed-out the trigger-happy men but at this point it’s proving impossible. We’re made of a bunch of bigoted assholes.”

“You know it,” Hangi says plainly, but he can tell her mind is elsewhere. “We all know you tipped them off, even if you deny it for ‘legal reasons’, so at least you got yourself a cleaner conscience, Deviant and all. They coulda’ been you, if you were a bit younger.”

He scoffs. “Hardly.”

She drops the manila folder of papers on the table with a huff, apparently not finding what she was looking for. “Forster couldn't have tipped us off earlier?”

“Apparently not. I think he just likes the chaos of telling us only once we’ve pulled out.”

“And they _really_ believed that he wouldn't tell anyone? If I were them I would've killed him and found the fastest way out of town.”

“Tch. I’m sure some of them wanted to. But you know how they are.”

Only _after_ waiting entirely too long to tell his superiors the _crucial_ information of where they are, did the grunt also show them the letter from 003 explaining that she and 001 and 002 are splitting off from the group. Now they have to look in two places at once, _without_ a close lead for the second group. Great.

Levi doesn't _want_ them to be caught, per se, he’d much rather not see them dead, but he’s also not going to hinder his organization’s efforts again, and there is always the possibility of another _accident._ He’ll never forgive himself if that happens. It’s not looking good for them anyway.

This is a giant clusterfuck if he's ever seen one.

“Captain?” A stiff new voice says.

“What is it?” Levi asks, turning and prying his focus from his thoughts.

Gunther stands at perfect attention. “We’ve sighted 003 a while off, _and_ detected two vans circling the suspected building. I figured you’d want to relay that to the Commander yourself.”

**9:34 am, November 12th, 2022**

**Jean Kirstein**

There's a moment where we’re all just staring at each other.

“Okay, wait- wait. Who are you?”

The ashy-blonde girl groans at the question. “I’ve gone over that already, I’m a Deviant okay? You can trust me.” 

“No-” Marco clarifies, “ _who_ are you?”

“Oh. I’m Hitch,” she says, blinking. “And I’d really appreciate you telling _him_ over there that it's rather rude to attempt to crush someone's windpipe the second they meet.” She pokes her thumb in my direction and I cross my arms defensively. 

“He was being cautious, as he well should be,” Marco says, eyes betraying his suspicion of her. 

“Yeah,” I agree. “You shouldn't have snuck up on us like that- if you really _are_ on our side, that is.”

The others are slowly filtering into the room, pausing when they see her. Armin hesitantly sidles up beside me.

“Who is she?” he asks under his breath.

“Don’t know. She’s a Deviant, but other than that…”

Hitch opens her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by someone banging on the door, but it doesn’t dislodge the chair that's shoved under the handle. Marco takes another step into the room. Hitch’s eyes flick back to the door. “Can you- uh, let them in? Please?”

“Why?” Eren asks. “Who are they?”

“Just my uh- comrades, you could say. They’re probably just worried about me, that's all.

“Comrades?”

“Yeah, we are a… _group_ of Deviants, ones who haven't been detected by the SURVEY Corps, that is.”

Mikasa narrows her eyes, stepping forward from where she was leaning in the doorway. “And how do you know they haven't tagged you?”

“One,” Hitch starts, counting off her fingers. “We’re still alive. Two: we got rats on the inside. We always know what they’re up to- with some occasional delay.”

“ _Okay_ ,” I start dubiously. “Say all of that's true, about the moles and stuff. It still doesn't explain why you’d help us.”

She rolls her eyes as if that was the stupid question she’s ever been asked. “Isn't it obvious? We want the Corps gone too, I’d like to lead a normal life, thank-you-very-much, and you guys would be a huge help in that- especially a Red-class like you,” she adds, pointing at me.

Eren’s head whips to me so fast it’s almost comical. “Red-class?”

I hunch his shoulders sheepishly. Great. Just what I needed. More attention.

“Take it from another Red-class,” she says, gesturing to herself and stalking forward, footsteps almost noiseless. “They’ve been trying to find me for years- with no success.” She winks and I swallow nervously. “They either want you gone and buried six-feet-under, or alive as their brain-dead slave, and I doubt either of those options are very appealing to you. Work with us and we can open more options- keep either of those from happening.”

I cross my arms tighter against my chest, ignoring the instinct to go hide behind Marco. Eren is still staring at me.

“You two as well,” Hitch continues, ignoring- or maybe not sensing- the tension that snapped into the air, and pointing at Eren and Mikasa. “You’re both Yellow-classes-pushing-Red-class. You guys can do serious damage as well, if you really wanted too.”

“We’re not just tools for you to use,” Marco says, clipped. I’ll admit, she’s not sounding much better than SURVEY.

“Don’t compare us to the Corps!” Someone shouts beyond the door. I stare at it in barely concealed shock. That was... scarily in tune with my thoughts, it's almost as if-

“Yes, I can hear you think, get used to it. Try not to be so loud next time. And I would really appreciate you letting us in!”

Hitch shrugs, noticing my gawking. “Marlowe,” she says by way of explanation. “Careful what you think. You two are barely Yellow-class, anyway” she says, nodding at Armin and Marco. “So if you don't want to join us it's no big loss.”

Marco scowls. “Who says any of us are joining you?”

“Cuz’ it’s the smart thing to do? Come on, I know you got a brain in there somewhere.”

“Hey,” I snap. “Don’t insult him.”

Before I know it, she's right beside me and she lays a hand on my arm. Her skin is unnaturally hot. “Wouldn't _dream_ of it,” she drawls. I yank my arm away, resisting the urge to rub at it, but she’s not phased. “Now, if you’ve concluded that we aren't here to kill you, it would be in your best interest to follow us back to our base so you don’t, you know, starve to death here.”

I drum my fingers on my arm, shooting a look at Marco, who returns and equally conflicted one. I’m waiting for the tension to snap and hit me in the face like a rubber band. No one says anything.

“Great,” Hitch says, clasping her hands together. “Glad we’ve come to a consensus. Follow us out of here- as long as you promise not to attack anyone. It’s gonna be a bit of a drive.”

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I try my best to not feel like I just got kidnapped as I sit in the back of the moving van we got shoved into. I’m almost nauseous with nervousness- nervousness for what, though, I’m not sure.

The thought-reading guy with the atrocious haircut, _Marlowe_ , if I remember correctly, is driving, Hitch in the passenger seat. It’s gotten to the point where I’m trying so hard not to think of anything that the grossest things I can possibly imagine of keep popping into my head against my will- hopefully he is used to tuning stuff out, because while sitting in a silent car going who-knows-where, there isn't much to distract me. Even Sasha and Connie are silent. Sasha and Connie! 

Another group is following in a van behind us, too many people to fit in the same vehicle. Backup, probably. 

With nothing else to do other than stress about literally everything, I study the unspoken tension hanging in the air between Hitch and Marlow, though I have no idea what it’s about. Marlow is staring resolutely at the road (though that might just be because he’s that much of a focused driver, and not out of pettiness, he seems the type) and Hitch keeps glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes and scowling when he doesn't react. I decide to ignore whatever _that_ is for now. I honestly don’t care about whatever elementary-school drama they’re having.

Mikasa is leaning against the back doors of the van, her blank gaze fixed on the windshield, on the road outside. I’m almost scared to breathe too loudly for fear of interrupting her little vigil, but since when has that ever stopped me? “How the hell did you find us?” I ask, earning a flick on Mikasa’s eyes in my direction and Hitch’s craned neck.

Hitch looks grateful for the excuse to talk. “We knew you were in this area so we just drove around until Marlowe picked up a whole bunch of thoughts saying SURVEYSURVEYSURVEY and the rest his history. You weren't very hard to find at all, really.”

“Why do you _really_ want us?” Eren asks, eyes piercing into the back of her seat. “Can't just be because we're powerful.”

“Well yes,” Hitch admits. “But I wasn't lying earlier. We want SURVEY gone almost as much as you, and you guys know the ins and outs of the facility first-hand.”

Eren scoffs. “You don't know us. For all you know this is an elaborate trick by SURVEY to trap _you.”_

She snorts. “As if. We know _all_ about you guys, you’re practically famous in the admittedly quite small Deviant-world. Whether you’re famous in a good way or a bad way is completely up to debate, but you guys make good horror stories to tell the younger ones why they should never show anyone their powers. SURVEY is the monster under the bed and you guys are it’s previous victims, if you will.”

I wanted to be famous when I was a kid, but this isn't quite what I imagined.

“And how many are there of you?” Connie asks, somewhat confrontationally.

“In our base? Not many right now. But you can’t _really_ believe you are the only surviving Deviants, right?” Hitch looks back with a smirk. “You’re just the unlucky bastards that the Corps got their hands on. There are lots living under the radar. The ones with physical powers are often detected right away by SURVEY, but the smarter, less obvious ones… that's another story. I mean, come on. Normal people probably outnumber us a million to one, but that still means there are hundreds of us in the US alone, not even mentioning the entire world.”

“Hmfpt,” is all Connie says.

Hitch cranes her neck at an uncomfortable angle to look back at us. Her eyes roll over each of us. “You do seem to be missing quite a few people though… where are the rest of you?”

“They split off,” Armin explains. “Now if some of us get re-captured there's still some out in the world.”

“Speaking of which,” I say, leaning forward. Marco is still silent beside me, seemingly quite content to let me do the talking right now. “If you knew ‘everything about us’, why wouldn't you, I don't know, _help_ us? Stop us from being _experimented_ on? Help some fellow Deviants out?”

She huffs. “Yeah, sorry, but you're not that important. We're not going to risk dozens of lives to save twelve. Sucks what you had to go through, but if it kept the Corps preoccupied that was quite fine with me.”

“It _sucks?”_ I ask incredulously. I can’t believe the balls on her. “Yeah it fucking _sucked_. Not that you’d know anything about that, all cozy out here.”

“Listen, man.” Her face falls to something in between exasperated and irritated. “You’re cute and all, but you gotta stop yelling at me. What's done is done. We could’ve just sat back and let you guys get captured again, but we didn't. We went out of our way to find you.”

“ _Oh,_ poor _you.”_

_“_ Jean,” Marco says softly. “It’s not worth it. As she said, what's done is done. She’s helping us right now, that's what's important.”

I stare at him, amazed at his betrayal. Thanks for taking my side! I shoot Hitch one last glare, but reluctantly close my mouth. She sends me an infuriating grin. “I like you,” is all she says, turning back to face the front and kicking her feet onto the dashboard. ‘ _What’s done is done’_ , my head supplies in a poor mocking of her voice. Sounds like a cop-out if I’ve ever heard one.

“You let her win,” I mumble, quiet enough that only Marco can hear.

“Sorry,” Marco whispers back. “But you guys were going to argue yourselves into circles, someone had to stop it.”

I shove him with my elbow. “You could've at least backed me up. I know you were thinking it too.”

“I thought it best we not annoy our potential saviors.”

God, is that what they are? Our _saviors?_ It’s a sad day indeed. 

I look at the others; Sasha and Connie tracing a game of tic-tac-toe with their fingers on Connie’s knee, Eren glaring at his hands while his lips form soundless words, Mikasa keeping her eyes tacked onto the back of Hitch’s head, Armin studying his fingernails with extreme interest, his shoulder pressed to Eren’s, and Marco, sitting beside me with his wings curled up awkwardly behind him. Barring Marco, these are the people I’ve seen every single day for most of my life, who I grew up with. I know practically everything about them, and they know everything about me.

Back in those beginning days, when SURVEY still thought they could beat the human from us and no one but Armin would talk to me, I had grown comfortable with being isolated. Preferred it, even. And that lasted until Marco showed up, really. Sasha and Connie had clicked with me as they weren't there to witness my… rough beginning days, and Reiner had his moments where he would talk to anyone, but I still was a bit of an ass until Marco showed up. Okay, scratch that, I still am, but at least I’m more of a tolerable ass now.

And here we are. Sitting on the floor in the back of the van going who-knows-where in a world that thinks us dead while the government hunts us down like dogs on a scent. I realize I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be ignored.

“Ugh!” Hitch groans from the front seat, almost giving me a heart attack and interrupting my woeful inner-monologue whether she knows it or not. “You guys are too quiet, it’s fucking depressing. I’m turning on some music.” She unfolds her feet to push one of the rectangular buttons on the dashboard, and a second later a cacophony of noise screeches through the speakers. Marco chuckles at my expression of disgust, but the silence is successfully broken.

“So…” Eren starts, shifting his eyes from side to side and leaning his elbows on his knees. “Red-class, huh?”

“Oh my God,” I groan, burying my face in my hands.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

We turn down a back road and approach a series of warehouses- _abandoned_ warehouses by the looks of it. I have no idea where we are, what city even, but we had to have driven for a couple of hours. I love this. Following random people around to what might as well be certain death. It’s great. I love not having options other than ‘die’ and ‘get kidnapped even though no one will call it kidnapping even though that's basically what it is’.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” Hitch says, gesturing dramatically to one of the warehouses. The metal walls are red and peeling, but it’s _giant._ There looks to be a middle area that's _actually_ a warehouse, and an area branching off at each side to what I can only assume are more rooms or halls. Seagulls dot its roof and the roofs of the tall city buildings behind us. We can’t be far from the ocean.

Marlowe stops in front of a wide garage door, and a moment later it’s being reeled up. I duck down from the windows as he drives into the darker warehouse. It takes exactly forty-three seconds before the doors are sliding open and Sasha sticks her head through.

“Oh,” is all she says, and she’s not dead yet, so I can only assume it’s safe. I hesitantly peer through the window. It’s remarkably… unremarkable. There are no dozens of people, no walls lined with weapons, no high-tech _anything_ , just a wide garage with dirt and oil stains on the walls, and a few other vehicles of varying types and colors dotting the concrete. There's a stack of what looks to be license plates on a workbench near the only door out that I can see, and one of the overhead lights is flickering.

“You’ll wanna watch your step,” Hitch advises as she slams the car’s door shut, prancing over to the door and stepping carefully over the bump in the concrete. “We’ve already had one sprained ankle, and we didn't have a healer until y'all came along.”

After a moment of hyping myself up to leave the van, and a flight of stairs later, she opens the double doors to the main floor. This is where the people are. Not a lot, but when you know a grand total of maybe fifteen people a lot is not very much. 

We’re standing on an outcropping made of metal mesh and railing. Stairs lead down to the main floor of the warehouse, and on the other side is another, bigger platform, with actual furniture and a table with a map spread on it. The people there look up when we enter.

Sasha scratches at her arms. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

I look to her, immediately on alert. “About what?” My eyes dart to Hitch and I lean forward, lowering my voice. “About _them_?”

She shakes her head. “Not them specifically, just… urg, I don’t know. It just feels like something bad’s going to happen.”

If I’ve learned one thing in life, it’s to never doubt Sasha’s instincts. I sigh. I need a break. “If the feeling gets worse, let me know,” I say.

She nods, but her eyes look like they’re somewhere else.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Turns out, Hitch wasn't lying when she said they have people on the inside.

She spreads a file full of ID sheets on the table, and more than a couple familiar faces stare back at us.

“ _Oh,”_ Marco says, furrowing his eyebrows and pointing at one of the papers. “I know him! He let me go that time when Reiner and I were trying to find Jean. I _knew_ he saw me. He was Bertholdt’s handler!” It is. The same up-turned nose and brown hair styled in an undercut.

“And her,” Connie pipes in, pointing at the black-haired woman with the down-turned eyes. “She was Annie’s!”

Hitch hums in confirmation. “There's currently an alarming lack in information flow right now… the Corps must know there are moles, they’ve gone dark. We only have a vague idea of what they’re doing now. And anything important we learn only hours after the fact.”

Something doesn't add up. “What about Dr. Petra Ral?” I ask. “She helped us. Is she with you guys?”

Hitch shakes her head. “I dunno who that is. Whoever she is she helped on her own accord, as far as I know. We might have a paper for her somewhere in here...”

I seem to be the only one troubled by this.

Hitch goes on about something else, steering Marco by the arm, who is closest to her, to another sheet, and saying something witty while stepping over an empty… cat bed?

I glare at her. I’m the only one allowed to tease him. She better not be flirting.

“So, what do all these people do, exactly?” Mikasa asks, sounding unimpressed.

Marlowe, giving Hitch a wide berth, plants his hands on the table. “They’re how we’ve avoided the Corps for so long. They tell us what they’re planning, who they’ve found, and what they were doing with you twelve.” He squints at one of the IDs. “Most of them have family members who are Deviants, and there are a few Green-classes in there. His brother, for example-” he points at the picture of Bertholdt’s former handler, “is a Deviant at another one of our bases, a few hours up. Most of our people are up there, actually, that's why this place is so empty.” he sighs, leaning back. “Considering our two highest-ranking spies are Hoover and Leonhart’s handlers, it would've been nice to have them here.”

“Speaking of which,” Hitch butts in. “Did Leonhart ever… I don’t know, say anything weird?”

I blink. “Like what?”

She shrugs. “Something that implies that she knew there was something up with the handlers- or that she knew there was more going on?”

“I got no fucking clue. She’s not exactly easy to read. Why?”

“Supposedly, it seemed like she knew. But with how you're describing her that might've just been her personality.” She crosses her legs and leans on the table next to Marlowe, picking under her nails with a pencil, but Marlowe just scowls and turns away. “Shame she’s not with you,” Hitch continues. “I feel like we could've been friends.”

Connie shudders beside me. “I hope not.”

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I am many things, but socially adaptable isn’t one of them. 

Which is why I’m sitting in the corner while everyone else talks with their new ‘buddies’. Marco, probably out of pity, sat with me for a while before I shooed him away because he doesn't have to be my baby sitter. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Against my better judgment, I trust them for the most part. Hitch and Marlowe are the only ones I’ve talked to (not that there's an abundance of people here anyway), and I’m happy to keep it that way. I don’t see any reason why they’d want to betray us, and it’s nice to have a bit of a break for once.

So when Hitch sits in the chair diagonal from me and kicks her feet up on another one, I’m more than a little surprised.

She picks dirt from under her nails with a toothpick. “So.”

I shoot her a look. “So?”

“So y’all gonna help us?”

I cross my arms. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re the one that needs convincing- if you won’t none of you will.”

“Speak for yourself. Eren would do the exact opposite of what I do strictly out of spite.”

She shoots me a dubious look but doesn’t comment.

I sigh, deflating. “Do you actually think it would work?” 

She nods firmly. “As long as we’re smart about it, I do. We just… need to somehow make good relations with the public, because without their acceptance it won’t matter if SURVEY is gone or not.”

I look towards the others. “Marco would be good at that, people listen to him.” As if sending my gaze, Marco looks up and smiles when our eyes lock. I look away quickly. 

Hitch snorts, eyes drifting lazily throughout the room. “Freckles is giving me the stink-eye.”

I furrow my eyebrows as I try to, as subtly as I can- which is not very subtle- look over at Marco. He’s watching as Armin traces something on the map, eyes nowhere near us. “What- no, he’s not. I don’t think he’s even capable of looking the wrong way at someone.”

“No, he totally is,” Hitch says with all the confidence in the world. “I know it when I see it. Make sure to tell him I’m not trying to steal you, okay? You’re just the best entertainment I’ve had in ages. Everyone here is so _dull._ ”

“Huh? No, that's not- he’s not- and I’m not _entertainment-”_

“See? You just did it. Gold. Pure Gold.”

I glare at her. “Why are you actually hanging around me? It’s not like there isn't better company.”

“What?” She half-smirks in her usual cat-like way. “Can’t a girl talk to who she wants?” As she says that, her eyes flick behind me and her lips tighten. I turn indiscreetly. Her eyes are planted on Marlowe, who has his back turned to us.

I turn and gawk at her, and the second she sees my expression the smirk falls from her face. “ _Oh_ . You’re trying to make him _jealous_ , aren't you?”

Her eyes widen. “No! Don’t flatter yourself!”

I shake my head, ignoring her. “Nuh-uh. Don’t get me wrapped up in that. No thank you.”

“There's nothing to get wrapped up _in_ ,” she counters, tucking her hands under her armpits. “Besides,” she grumbles. “He wouldn't care anyway.”

I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. I don’t _really_ want to ask, but I know if I don’t I’d be being a jerk. “Did you guys fight or something?”

“Something like that.”

Well, can’t say I didn’t try. “What's in those rooms out there?” I ask, and I can’t tell if she’s happy or frustrated about the change of subject. Whatever, I’m not her therapist.

“On this side it’s our rooms, the other side is mostly empty,” she drawls, lazily pointing her hand in each direction. “You’re welcome to explore if you want, though it’s not hard to get lost. I don’t know who decided there should be so many floors and hallways but I’d like to give him a good punch to the face.”

“Yeah?” I say, standing up and rolling my shoulders with a satisfying _click. “_ Bye, then.”

She raises her eyebrows but lets me go. 

“Where are you going?” Marco asks as I pass him.

“Just taking a breather,” I tell him. “You don’t have to come.”

“That sounds good right now,” Armin says, looking up. “Can I come?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

Hitch was right- it is like a maze out there, but eventually I reach a room at the side of the building with a window. Armin follows me in companionable silence. The window just stares into the alley between our warehouse and the next one over, but it’s better than the stained concrete walls everywhere else. 

At a rustle of paper, I turn to see Armin pull out the map of the county that seems to be perpetually in his pocket.

“I don’t think we’re far from the ocean,” I comment.

Armin looks up. “Really? I- I thought we might be, but I wasn't sure-”

“Definitely. I can smell it in the air. Maybe at some point we can convince Hitch to loan us a car to go look, if only for a second.”

Armin’s eyes are more alive than I’ve ever seen them. “Only if we can bring Eren,” he says, grinning. He looks more his age now, just a seventeen-year-old, wanting to go to the beach. Or is he eighteen? It would be nice to know our actual birthdays because right now, everyone but Sasha’s, Connie’s, and Marco’s are on the New Year, if only so we can remember when we are a year older.

“...Fine,” I groan like it’s some great sacrifice.

“We can bring Marco too, then,” he compromises. “Make it a double-date.”

I stare at him incredulously, heat rising to my cheeks. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” he smiles, and- wow, I never thought I’d see that expression on Armin. “Come on. It’s getting painful to watch. Just stop beating around the bush already.”

I glare at the air before me, crossing my arms over my chest. Contrary to what he might think, I’m not stupid, I know what's happening, and I’ve just decided to continue to ignore it. “... I’d ruin it,” I mumble, but it’s so quiet I wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't hear me.

Armin scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “I just want you to be happy, you know that? He’s my friend too, and like I said, I’m good at reading people. I’m pretty sure you wouldn't be ruining anything- the opposite, actually.”

I avert my eyes, trying to force the blood from my cheeks. I wish I had more experience with this. I’m at a loss.

“Oh, _hello,”_ Armin coos, and I turn, confused, because he certainly isn't talking to _me_ like that. I find Armin crouched in front of a little ginger cat, a soft smile on his face that he usually only reserves for Eren. He pets the cat between the ears, who in turn rubs against his legs. The collar’s tag reads _Schrödinger_ in black sharpie, the letters so crammed together that it's only a step away from gibberish. Armin scoops it into his arms, stroking its fur.

I raise my eyebrows. 

“Here, pet it,” Armin encourages, angling the cat towards me. It stares blankly at me. I can practically see the elevator music filling its head. I hesitantly reach a hand out, waiting for it to start scratching or clawing, but it stays still, tail swishing slowly as I light pet it with two fingers between its shoulder blades. It’s soft.

The last animal I touched would have had to have been one of SURVEY’s guard dogs when I was what? Twelve? Thirteen? And that was when they wanted it to pick up my scent “just to make sure I had one”. I was pretty sure my Deviance didn't include not smelling of anything, but I couldn't exactly object at the time. I can’t even remember touching a cat before, my family certainly never had one.

I step back, letting Armin continue to fuss over it.

Of course he’s a fucking animal person. How am I supposed to compete with these people? And how do bastards like Eren and Ymir end up with literal rays of sunshine like Armin and Historia? Shit’s weird.

Armin must see my glances, because he casts me an amused, “What?”

“How are you so goddamn nice?” I blurt. “I mean, I think I understand Marco, but you? I don't get you.”

He binks, surprised. “I don’t know, I just… want to be, so I am.”

I furrow my eyebrows. I don't think that’s how it works.

Armin sees my confusion and shrugs. “I realized it benefited no one to be bitter, so I decided not to be.”

I’m dubious. “... Okay. But I still don’t know how you don't just want to kick SURVEY’s heads in. I sure as hell want to- almost as much as I don't want to kill anyone.”

“Oh, deep down I do.” He smiles. “But once I purposely hurt someone, I’ll do it again, and again, and it will get easier. I don't want that to happen. I’d rather die the same person as I was born than lose myself to spite and anger.” He shrugs again. “I guess I like to think that I’m not kind _because_ of the trauma, but because I choose to be.”

… Alright. I guess that makes sense. I can respect that.

But something doesn’t quite add up to this whole ‘pacifist’ thing. “... But you don’t want to run?”

He shakes his head. “No- not for much longer, at least. Common sense tells me that this chase isn’t going to stop by itself.” He pauses. “Not that I’m saying you don’t have common sense- I don’t think you’re stupid- quite the opposite, actually-”

“Yeah, yeah,” I snort, waving him off. “I know what you meant.”

He breathes a long breath out, absentmindedly petting the cat, who looks perfectly content to be babied. “I get it. I really do. I don’t blame you for wanting to keep running. But even if we _do_ leave the country and they never find us again, they’re still out there. They’ll do what they did to us with whatever new Deviants they can find- and something tells me they won't make the same mistakes as they did with us.” The cat, doing what cats do, bites at his fingers so he lets it hop to the ground. “We have to nip it in the bud now. before they can get more powerful.”

I chew on my tongue, opting to stay silent. Whatever I say will only make things worse. I still don’t like this, but if, and only _if,_ we _were_ to attack first, we’d have to-

_Slam!_

I jerk to my feet, heart thumping against my ribs. What the fuck was that?

A rattle comes from the closest window. I squint incredulously at it. A _hawk_ is poised on the outside windowsill, flapping its brown wings and butting its head against the window. It raises a talon and taps on the glass, squawking.

Armin gets it a second before I do.

“Ymir?”

_Shit,_ it is, isn't it?

Armin heaves open the window, and she tumbles in, shifting back into a human in midair, falling gracelessly to the floor as a tangle of limbs. She’s damn lucky she shifts with her clothes- I don't quite get the logistics of it, I certainly appreciate it.

“Thank God you saw me-”

“What are you doing here? How did you find us?” Armin asks, and Ymir scrambles to her feet.

“Guys, they’re-”

“Where’s Historia?” I push. The Ymir I know would leave her side unless she _had_ to.

“Listen,” Ymir hisses. “Historia’s coming. But SURVEY knows you’re here- _we’re_ here. They’ve been swarming this city.”

Of course.

Jesus fucking Christ. Can we catch a break? One moment of peace- that’s all I’m asking for. I don't need to be fed grapes on a remote island, just one day where I’m not running for my life. _One_ goddamn day.

“H-how do you know? There's no way they could’ve tracked us.” Armin stutters.

“Well, they must’ve! They’re all over the news, and the public knows _something_ is happening, they just don't know what. And second, there are tons of fucking soldiers circling the roads and alleys around the building- some are even in civilian clothes. You know how they walk, they aren't hard to spot. They’ve blocked off the outside of these warehouses.”

“How many?”

“God, I don’t know. A lot. And they have guns. _Real_ guns, none of that taser shit. I don’t think they’re looking to get us back.”

_Shit._

“They can't just go after us in the middle of _town_ , right?” I look between Armin and Ymir, swallowing heavily. “ _Right_?”

Ymir purses her lips. “I flew ahead of her, but Historia’s got a car and I told her to pick us up a few blocks away- we can’t risk her getting too close, so- she can take us. I don't care if we have to pile in like a clown car but- we’ll make do.”

“We gotta tell the others-”

“Already on it,” Ymir says, shifting into her preferred form, a tiger, and clearing half the room in one great leap. Armin and I rush to follow.

We run after her, shouting instructions when she turns the wrong way in the maze of hallways, always ten steps behind.

She bursts through the double doors, into the main warehouse, and Armin and I slip through before they can swing back and hit us, emerging onto the platform high above the floor. Far across from us, on the large, railed platform on the opposite wall, are the others, either leaning over the map or wandering around, picking at their fingernails.

Ymir’s rumble catches their attention.

“Guys!” I shout, already a quarter of the way down the stairs. “We gotta go-”

The two doors on each side of the warehouse are kicked open, and shouts fill the space.

I take the time to marvel at how an already bad situation has become infinitely worse. SURVEY and their impeccable timing. This is getting ridiculous.

Soldiers filter in, guns raised. I backtrack, scrambling back up the stairs to where I have some semblance of cover.

“Go! We’ll catch up with you!” Armin shouts at the others.

“Down on the ground!” A soldier commands, but the order falls on deaf ears.

I stare towards the others who have already ducked behind what cover they could find. I make frantic eye contact with Marco across the room. 

The soldier, realizing we aren't going to comply, shifts, raising his gun higher. I hear the click of the trigger all the way over here.

He screams when the gun flies out of his hand with a spray of blood. 

“Go!” Sasha yells, aiming for another soldier’s weapon. Not aiming to kill, but to incapacitate. Marlowe is already herding them through the door leading onto their side of the maze, and Hitch shoots a fireball, but there's nothing for it to catch on so it does nothing but make a black scorch mark on the ground.

Hitch says something that sounds alarmingly similar to, “ _Fuck it, I’m sending this place up_ ,” and shoots a burst of fire upwards, carefully avoiding both alcoves. The heat hits me like a gust of wind as the ceiling beams catch, the hanging cords and ropes going up in flames. A soldier yelps.

Marco and Eren lag, though, both still looking towards us. Armin speaks first. “We’ll be fine, go!” He says to both of them, but he’s staring at Eren. He still hesitates, and I can barely make out his eyes tracing the fastest path towards us- towards Armin, but he’d still have to mow through at least half a dozen men. Finally, he nods sharply, eyes lingering on Armin for one last moment before he spins on his heels and runs after the others.

Despite the fact that he’s been standing in plain sight, no one shoots in Marco’s direction. So they do want him alive.

I give Marco what I hope is a reassuring nod, the warehouse too alive with shouts and the occasional boom of gunfire for any words to be heard. He nods too, slower, and turns after the others who have already long since left the room.

The sudden vibration of the platform jerks my attention to the left, where a soldier is already climbing up the stairs, in the process of lifting his AK. I push a shockwave outwards purely on reflex, shoving him head over heels back down the stairs, and he crashes into the man behind him and sends them both sprawling.

Ymir grabs me by the collar of my shirt with her teeth, yanking me back and nodding towards the double doors. Right. They’re pull-doors on this side, and she doesn't have thumbs.

It’s a mad scramble to yank them open and let Armin and Ymir through before the soldiers notice and send another spray of bullets our way, but I manage it without getting my head taken off.

I push the doors closed, and circular dents warp the metal with loud _pings_.

“Find something to bar it!” I order.

Armin tries to yank a metal pipe from its place on the wall next to him, and it creaks but doesn’t budge. I give it a nudge with my Deviance, weakening the bolts, and he manages to pull it free on his next try.

He shoves it through the door handles, and I grab the corners, channeling energy through my hands with a hum I feel more than hear, and bend the sides upwards with an ear-splitting _screech_ until it’s almost a closed circle. No way they’re knocking that one free.

The fact that they sent as many bullets my way as anyone else, excluding Marco, tells me that either they don’t need me alive anymore, or the soldiers are scared enough of me that they’d rather find out the consequences of disobeying Smith’s orders than have to potentially face me. The second option is worse. At least if they don’t need me alive, I don’t have to worry about being dragged back and tortured a hundred times worse than before. I can’t imagine what the no-doubtedly ‘new and improved’ conditioning entails.

Ymir reverts back to human form with a wet pull of flesh and muscle. “How the hell do we get out of here?”

“ _Fuck_ , I don’t know,” I admit, looking around the empty room. They follow me anyway.

I decide to go back the way we came- if I can remember it, that is. There's a door out of here there, leading to an alley which leads to a public street. Maybe we can lose them there. The hallways are empty, but I can hear the faint pops of bullets from the other side of the warehouse. The others better fucking make it out, or I’ll kick their asses.

We crash through the doors, and I make to turn down the hall to the left, but immediately scramble back when I see approaching soldiers from the left and hear footsteps coming from the right. “ _Fuck._ We’re going to be pinned in about twenty seconds,” I hiss.

Ymir pokes her head into the hallway before pressing herself back against the wall. “Okay. Here's what we’re going to do. I’m going to run to the right and you two are going to go to the left, and Jean, you blow them away while I keep them distracted so they don’t shoot you in the back. That way none of us are cornered.”

“But-”

“Nuh-uh,” Ymir says. “Eren and Marco will have my ass on a platter if either of you get hurt, and I’d rather avoid that, as I’m quite attached to my ass.”

Eloquently said.

“Just don’t get fucking shot,” I say.

“Yeah, you either. I’ll be pissed.”

There are doors branching off of the hallway on the opposite wall, and if I remember correctly the second one to the left leads to the way out. We’ll book it there, and Ymir will follow once the ones on this side are taken care of.

Ymir shifts back, landing heavily and paws scrambling for traction on the slick flooring, claws carving tiny groves.

I wait until the footsteps from the soldiers to the left are louder, and pop around the corner, throwing my hand out and _pushing._ They go skidding down the hall, guns clattering to the ground, and one of the ceiling lights shatter. I _would_ try to do both sides, but I don’t trust myself to not accidentally catch Armin and Ymir in it too.

I grab Armin’s wrist and _haul ass_ towards the door, Ymir’s growls and the soldier’s shouts of terror as a fully-grown tiger is suddenly on top of them echo off the walls, and I _finally_ throw the door open, pushing Armin inside, and shouting back to Ymir.

Some of the soldiers are already getting their legs under them, so I send another wave in their direction.

Ymir has kept her promise and has the soldiers’ full attention. They’re too busy dancing around her and trying not to lose their ankles to pay any attention to me or Armin. Her ears prick up when I call her, and she turns and bounds towards us, whipping a man across the chest with her tail, muscles rippling under her stripes.

Just a little bit farther and we can be out and away from this mess.

Bullets spray the floor in front of her.

She skids to a stop with a startled grunt, turning tail and busting her way through the nearest door and out of the line of fire as the bullets chase her. Not our door. _Fuck._ Nothing can work out. I was too distracted to hear the other group of soldiers.

I slam the door closed, locking it and ducking when another round of bullets from the newly-arrived soldiers punch through the fiberglass. I fucking hate this. Nothing makes you feel more helpless and afraid for your life than when you're under a rain of fire. Nothing.

“She’ll find a way out,” Armin says under his breath, but I think it's more of a reassurance to himself than to me. But she will. I know she will. She’s Ymir, she won't leave Historia hanging.

When the bullets cease, Armin and I rush to the back of the room, almost tripping over a few overturned chairs, and pushing the door open. Yes. This is it.

The smell of the city is no longer dulled, and I’ve never been happier to get a face-full of gasoline fumes before. 

There's a loud _bang_ on the locked door. Shit. We have to lose them. I look up at the ceiling- the same type that was at the facility. Didn't Marco mention that that's how Reiner snuck around…?

I jump, reaching an arm out, but my fingertips barely brush the ceiling despite me almost dislocating my shoulder. Alright. Come on, come on, let's channel my inner Levi. I create an invisible force under my feet and push myself up as I jump. 

It works. Almost too well, actually, considering I almost knock myself out on one of the metal bars. Nevertheless, I get my fingers under the tile and pop it out, hauling myself up, arms shaking with the strain. I reach down and pull up Armin’s much lighter form, and barely replace the tile just as someone manages to shoot the lock off the door and it swings outwards, hitting the wall with a dull _thud_.

Armin stiffens beside me and I hold my breath, listening as one of the soldiers’ curses. I can picture them scanning the room, overturning chairs and peering through the windows. Finally, after what feels like an hour but can’t be more than half a minute, the door to outside closes and the room below us falls silent.

It isn't until after I count down from twenty that I let myself breathe. 

“Ew,” Armin says, barely more than a whisper. 

I look over to find a spider web stuck to his hand as he tries to bat the hanging eight-legged creature away from him. I curl my nose and flick it away, trying to pull the webs from Armin’s fingers but only succeed in getting them wrapped up in mine too. This is such a mundane problem that it almost makes me laugh. Almost.

Eventually, we manage to wipe it off and there's nothing but silence and the distant sound of sirens. Armin shoots me a weary smile and I snort at the absurdity.

I wish with all my heart that we could just live here now, in the three-foot-tall space between the ceiling and the floor above us and become a little ceiling hobbit, even if there are spiders and the dust is getting ready to send me into a sneezing fit. Make these pipes our forest and the concrete our rocks, and the little spots of light leaking through the tile our sun, but smoke is starting to leak through the vents, and the others are who-knows-where, and I know we can’t. 

I slowly pull out the same tile and peek my head through the opening, almost expecting to find myself staring down the barrel of a gun, but I’m not. The room is empty, if in a little more disarray than it was ten minutes ago.

My ankles protest as I drop down heavily, Armin right behind me. He doesn't bother replacing the tile.

I hesitantly emerge into the alleyway, and Armin clutches the back of my shirt in his fists, following close behind me. There's no trace of SURVEY, just a regular grungy alley. Alright. If we’re lucky, we can loop around the city, go through the forest, and meet up with the others of the other side and high-tail it out of here. Or we’ll be lucky and stumble upon Historia. I don’t fucking care, I’ll walk straight to Canada if that’s what it takes, I’m done with this shit.

We tread lightly out of the alley, onto a deserted sidewalk. My heart's beating in my throat. I don't like this- we’re too exposed. I drag Armin into a run to clear the sidewalk and duck behind a dumpster. Nothing happens. There are no shots, no bullets, no shouts.

“Let’s go a block down then make a run for it,” Armin says quietly. “It will take way too long to sneak our way out of here.” I nod in agreement.

They’ve got numbers on their side- taking this slow will only hurt us. It’s best to just get our asses out of this city as quick as possible, even if it’s not all that discrete. 

We dart from alley to alley, trying to keep out of sight, until the warehouses are down the street, still looming, but eerily silent. I don’t like how quiet it is. The area itself is far from silent, people are poking their heads out of windows, police sirens are still blaring outside of the warehouse, but there's nothing from inside of it. I wonder what they’re going to tell the public this commotion was about. Drug-bust, probably, the warehouse does look rather sketchy- though the beginning streamers of smoke starting to leak through the cracks in the roof might discredit that.

I can’t help but feel like we’re rats in a maze.

Buildings tower above us, any window a potential houser of a sniper ready to pick us off, every alley a place to be ambushed. Where the hell are the others?

We’re pinned here- but the forest isn’t far to the South- if we make it down the road we can book it the last few blocks to the trees, where we might be able to lose them. 

I peel myself from the wall and peer around the corner, seeing nothing but the sparsely populated street that leads down what must be the main area for this part of the city as shops align each side. It’s not a huge street, a two-way road void of moving vehicles, a divider, and another two-way. A car is parked next to the sidewalk on our side, maybe two hundred feet down the road. The city noises haven’t ceased, and unlike the other side of the road where there’s not a soul in sight, the sidewalks here are populated. Far from busy, but there are a few blissfully unaware pedestrians chatting in the shops, but most on the sidewalks are looking towards the sirens.

Good.

I’m not stupid enough to think in a gathering this sparse we can blend in, but it should dissuade SURVEY from showing their faces. Maybe. Hopefully. Depends on how lucky we are and how desperate they’re feeling.

The problem is, however, that SURVEY isn’t stupid enough to _not_ set soldiers elsewhere. 

I eye the building at the end of our side of the street, where the road splits in two. I don’t like those windows. If I were to plant snipers anywhere, it would be there. I know for a fact that my reflexes aren't fast enough to stop a bullet- we’d tried back in training. If I already have a wall up, the bullets crumple against it, but I can't make those on purpose, they just… happen. But there's no way out of this alley other than the road and back where we came.

We’re pinned.

I would suggest we go back in to find the others if it weren't for the fact that they went out the other side of the building and are _quite_ unlikely to venture back here. Plus, there’s smoke rising into the air.

“What do you think?” I ask, looking over my shoulder. Armin’s hands are still fisted in my shirt. 

“I don’t see another way around, and if we stay here we’re caught so… I’d say risk it.” He’s trembling- not a lot, but enough to notice. So am I. The adrenaline is making me clumsy and shaky, I wouldn’t trust myself to hold anything right now.

Armin meets my eyes and nods slowly.

I don’t like this, but the longer we stand here the greater our chances of getting spotted. I grab Armin’s wrist before I can reconsider, and take off at a run and throwing discretion to the wind, aiming for the car that could serve as ample cover if we so need it.

Halfway there I let go of Armin’s wrist, realizing that that only slows us down. Keeping to the sidewalk, I almost roll my ankle on a curb.

The few pedestrians not drawn away by the sirens down the road stare at us as we pass, two weirdos running as of their lives depend on it, but we keep our distance. As useful as it may be, I’m not about to use them as a shield to hide behind, and I know without asking that Armin whole-heartedly agrees.

Maybe I’m imagining it. Freaking myself out. Maybe we already lost SURVEY. Maybe that building behind us is completely clear and innocent. I’ve always been good at scaring myself. Nevertheless, I push myself faster, Armin only a step behind me.

I almost sob with relief when I slide behind the car for cover, bits of asphalt digging into my knees but I don’t have the mind to care. I look back to Armin, who is right behind me.

I hear the whistle of the bullet before it hits.

There’s the sound of thunder, then the sound of piercing and searing, white-hot pain- but it’s not mine.

Armin goes down with a pained yelp, hands clutched over a new hole in his upper thigh, bright red blood bubbling up beneath his fingers.

“ _Oh God.”_

I can’t breathe.

He’s only a few feet away- only a few feet until he’s behind cover. A shrill scream reaches my ear, and I distantly see the pedestrians scatter.

“Don’t,” Armin warns, face pinched in pain. “He’s trying to lure you out.”

Another shot shatters the car window just above my head, sending glass raining down on me. 

Armin somehow struggles to his feet, but blood is flowing steadily down his leg, pulsing out of the bullet wound in time with his heart, and he trembles like a newborn deer. He’s too weak with pain, but he _tries,_ yet crumbles to the ground in the middle of his next step.

I don’t let myself think. 

I dive forward, looping my arms underneath his shoulders and dragging him back, painfully aware that I’m completely exposed to the wrath of the sniper, but it doesn’t matter right now, especially not when another bullet hits the exact place Armin’s head was only a moment ago, leaving a jagged hole in the ground and a spray of black shards. _Four more steps until cover. Three more steps. Two more steps. One-_

Two more rapid claps of thunder- then lightning.

And the pain isn’t just Armin’s anymore.

It doesn’t register at first. I’m present enough to realize that Armin gets hit again, this time in the shoulder, the bullet almost taking off my finger as well, but after my arms go slack and Armin falls to the ground, the world disappears. There’s nothing but the _excruciating_ pressure in my chest- as if the entire force of a speeding train was channeled into this one, inch-wide area of skin.

Stumbling backward, my back hits the hard asphalt. The sky looms above me, but through every ragged gasp, it grows blurry and unfocused. What? Did- Did- _what_?

I’m behind the car- I know that much, but- _shit._ It feels like I was just struck in the chest with a 2 by 4.

Touching my ribs, I slowly examine my hand, turning it in skewed wonder when it comes away red. Huh.

Then the pain hits. Fuck. _Oh_ _fuckfuckfuck_.

I’m a fucking idiot.

In other words, the sky is blue.

Armin is somewhere nearby, whimpering like a kicked dog, and I can only hope that he can make it the rest of the way behind the car by himself before the sniper takes his head off- I’m certainly bleeding too much to help, and my muscles are locked in a way that I don’t think I could move if I wanted to.

Black fades in and out of my vision, sometimes being replaced by bobbing white dots. Every heave for breath feels like being stabbed with a serrated knife and having it roughly yanked out again.

Another shot pings off the roof of the car. 

Something scrabbles to my left, but I’m too busy trying to blink away the blindness from my eyes to really notice. 

“ _Jean,”_ Armin gasps, cutting through the mist. “Is there an exit wound?”

What? The ringing in my ears fades to muffled silence. I blink blearily. How is that important? 

I slowly raise my head to meet his eyes. Suddenly, awareness returns to me, and the fog dissipates as quickly as it came.

Gasping in newfound realization, I try to push myself to my feet with panic-fueled urgency, but don't even make it two inches before the pain forces me back down to the ground.

This is really happening. I’ve been fucking shot. Didn't really click until now.

I press my shaking hands to space where my chest meets my torso, but it does little to slow the flow of blood spirting from the wound, gathering under my hands and trickling down my sides to pool on the ground under me.

In the back of my mind, I know that means it hit an artery. Bad. I’m not unconscious yet, but I can’t help but hope said oblivion hurries its ass along because in all my life I’ve never felt pain like _this_.

I let out a broken sob, chest heaving. I throw back my head against the asphalt- I can’t move in any useful ways, but the pain keeps me from staying still- I’m stuck in a limbo where I’m squirming on the ground while the wound throbs in tandem with my heart.

I fight tooth and nail to force breath into my chest. It’s not wet or bloody- I think my heart and lungs escaped unscathed. Everything else though… can’t say. 

I’m far past panic, but not quite to numbness, unfortunately. A sort of delirium in between where time has slowed to a crawl- like wading through syrup. I try to use my Deviance to- to, I _don’t_ _know_ , do _something_ , but I _can’t_. I’m not focused enough- and- _and-_

“Jean!” Armin tries again, and I snap my eyes towards him. I know they’re wide and afraid. “Is there an exit wound?”

_Fuck_. It’s useless. I check anyway, if only for something to do other than writhe- bracing my shoulders on the ground and lifting myself with weak legs, reaching a shaking hand under me and feeling along my back. My shirt is dry. The blood hasn’t soaked through there yet.

“D-Don’t think so,” I force out, collapsing back on the ground. _Fuck,_ no one told me getting shot would hurt so fucking much.

“ _Shit,”_ Armin breathes.

I roll my eyes towards him, too tired to move my head, but I see nothing but a blurry blob of blond and red. Why the hell does it matter? 

So. This is where I die. On the baking asphalt of some shitty street in the backwater part of some foreign city. I’m not naive enough to think I can survive a wound like this. You don’t just get shot in the chest and survive. But... maybe Armin can. He’s been hit twice, yes, but he’s- he’s resilient. Yeah. He’ll make it. Eren won’t have a reason to kick my dead body. 

Armin grunts, rolling onto his elbow, keeping his bad arm tucked to his chest.

My eyelids flutter shut. There it is. The numbness. Thank fuck. 

I force myself not to think about Marco. His face, his expression when he realizes I’ve been killed by a fucking sniper. We never should have split up. I should’ve just fought my way back over.

I hope he isn’t the one to find me. He doesn’t need to see this. Me, laying in a pool of my own blood, a bullet lodged under my ribs. I force myself not to think about how I should have just fucking told him.

Sorry Mina. Doesn't look like I’ll be here to watch over him anymore. Maybe he’ll find the starfish in my pocket- maybe he’ll know what it means, maybe he won't, doesn't really matter. Nothing matters when you’re dead.

“-ean!”

I’m definitely in shock now. I’m warm. Very warm. And wet. I’m bleeding too much. Smells like iron. Like zippers, or the taste of a graphite pencil. The air in my lungs feels like a waterlogged sponge.

I lift one of my hands, watching the thick, warm ruby drip off of my fingertips and down my arm with something akin to amazement. To think, all of that was inside me just a minute ago.

“Jean! Stay with me!”

My eyes fully snap open and I let out a pitiful groan, dropping my hand. I can no longer keep pressure on the wound, my muscles might as well be a pile of goo.

“Jean,” Armin is saying. “L-let me heal you.”

I blink sluggishly. “Huh?”

He inches closer, foot scrabbling against the ground, other leg dragging uselessly behind him. His elbows are bloodied from crawling his way across the rough asphalt- though it’s hard to notice as he’s covered in so much red; leaking from his thigh and shoulder, wet and watery at some parts, thick and deep at others- it all mixes together. Blood is splattered across his face as if someone dipped a paintbrush in it and _flicked_. Ha. Maybe it’s mine. Maybe some of mine is his. 

“I might be able to save you.”

I force myself back into awareness with willpower I didn’t think I had. “B-but you…” _But you’ll die too. You need the energy- you might have a chance- the group needs you- you..._ I don’t- I _can’t_ say the words out loud. The back on my throat is tangy with iron. I cough up a wad of blood, gritting my teeth against a scream when my vision momentarily goes dark. 

“We’re both- nngh- gonna die if I don’t do an-anything,” Armin says in between pained grunts, sensing the unsaid. Shock hasn't taken him yet. “I’m not gonna make it. So let m-me _help._ I-I’m not dying for nothing.”

“A-Arm-”

“No! Listen to me,” he exclaims desperately, voice breaking. “I’ve been hit _bad-_ there's n-nothing we can do! You _know_ I c-can’t heal myself like this. Let me _help.”_

I know there's nothing but pained devastation on my face. “ _Armin_ …”

“ _Please,”_ he wheezes, voice scratchy. “I don’t want to die for nothing.”

I shake my head, screwing my eyes closed. “No, no,” I whimper, but I’m not sure what I’m objecting to. 

Blinking glassily at the sky, tears wet my eyes. I can’t fight him on this. Not like this- not right now. Not when we’re both minutes away from bleeding out, if the shock doesn't take us first. I let out a sound that might be a sob or might be a laugh.

The air smells of pennies.

I never wondered if there was an afterlife or not. The way I see it, it doesn't matter. I’ll either get swallowed by sweet oblivion, or be sent down a one-way elevator to hell, being a non-believer lowest on the list of sins that landed me there. Or maybe I’d get reincarnated into a bug right before making close acquaintances with the sole of a shoe, or spend the rest of eternity pushing boulders up hills, or the atoms that make up _me_ will simply dissipate back into space- who's to say who was right? I figured I’ll find out when it happened, but- not this soon. I’m not ready. I- I _can’t-_

Armin finally reaches me, collapsing with his forehead pressed to my shoulder, throwing his arm over my chest. He worms his hand under my own blood-slicked ones, and I let him.

It hurts when he digs his fingers into the ragged edges of my flesh, but I don’t have the energy to so much as flinch. My world is swimming. I might as well be at the bottom of the ocean. My face is wet- and salty. Is it blood? Tears? The water of said ocean? I’m not sure. All of them, maybe.

“Just- take down SURVEY for me, okay?” Armin says, voice weak and muffled by my shirt.

I can’t respond, but something tells me he wouldn't hear me anyway.

They say your life flashes before your eyes in your last moments. I don’t see my life. I see the inside of a blindfold, the last smile my sister gave me, a wrinkled map of the world, the Milky Way hanging high during a cold night, rain hitting the concrete. A dark backyard in the middle of the night. The rumble of the packed van. The bathroom at one in the morning.

Marco. I think about Marco. City air. Antiseptic. Chlorine. Iron. Fabric softener. Rain. And whispers. So many whispers.

I wish I fucking told him. I’m dying with too many regrets, it would have been nice to lighten the load a bit.

But I’m dangerous. I know too much. Seen too much. I’m capable of taking a life. I’m capable of doing it again. I know this. The soldier who put this bullet in me knows this. He’s capable of taking lives too.

I don’t know why I exist. If I have a purpose, if there's a reason I have these abilities. Science? Magic? A freak accident? Doesn’t fucking matter to me, but whatever duty I was destined for, I hope to God I fulfilled it because in this one, eternal moment, drawn tighter by my own head, I can’t figure out what brought me here.

Armin mumbles something incomprehensible under his breath. I can’t help but wonder what he’s seeing. 

I hope it’s something nice.

With my last moment of consciousness, instead of dwelling on the past, instead of thinking about what could have been, I intertwine my fingers with Armin’s, feeling their warmth and holding onto them for dear life. Armin sighs against my shoulder and a familiar tingling sensation blooms in my core.

I fade.

...

“ _Jean! Armin! What- oh my God. Armin? W-Wait- No-”_

Armin’s fingers are limp.

I told him he’d get to see the ocean.

A fleeting moment of wakefulness. Strong hands- familiar hands. Gathering. Jostling. Oblivion’s claws hooking into my skin, pulling, tearing, until I’m dragged back down to the depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵘʳᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵉ ᴵ'ᵐ ᶠʳᵃᵍᶦˡᵉ


End file.
